Saturday, 14 April 2012

No, it's not the next chapter. With any luck, that'll be up soon. No, this is about Characters. I've got me, Lynxia, Mist, Eve, Star and Lavender. But it's not to late to give me a few more. Anyone who wants to be in the story should give me their OC now. That will be all.

Thursday, 12 April 2012

I understand that it might not be the place you think off, but it's the way I think of Blogland. And it's my story, you don't have to, and proabably won't, like it. Anywho, here it is:

Nixion opened his eyes, looking up at the perfect sky. Not even a cloud. Sunny, bright warm, caring. A perfect day. Nixion realised that he was lying on some slightly moist grass. He didn’t lie on grass. He mostly read, or talked on his computer to his friends. He sat up and looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings.

He was lying on a hill, overlooking a large, impossibly big lake. To the left was a cliff. Over the lake, directly across the hill, was a volcano. This didn’t seem like the right environment for a volcano, but it was there. Nixion noticed with a shock that some smoke was coming out of the top, and a small amount of magma was running down it. Nixion wondered what was behind the volcano. To the left, near the lake, were some tree houses. Behind them was a forest, big and dense. It seemed to go on forever. Nixion looked behind him and saw a huge hill, maybe even a mountain, rising up, dotted with tress, bushes and grass.

Nixion realised with a jolt that he knew where he was, but had never really been there.

This was Blogland.

Nixion stood and looked at everything, amazed. He had only been to this place through computer. This couldn’t be real. He looked down at himself and gasped. He wasn’t himself. He was the character he had created. He was taller and thinner. He was wearing black jeans, a black T-shirt and a black leather jacket. He also had a machete, which was the most surprising. He touched his hair. It was different then he remembered. Longer and straighter. He wasn’t himself anymore. He was Nixion Strange.

He looked around at Blogland and to his surprise he saw other people. Most were around the lake, so he walked towards there.

They had been driving, but their van had broken down. Well, Kali's
van. She had been driving them back, but then she had got an urgent phone call
and she'd had to go somewhere immediately. She wouldn't tell them where it was
or what had happened. She had let them have the van though, provided they
didn't get caught by the police (Zathract could drive, but neither of them had
a licence) and they didn't damage it. Zathract had a feeling she wouldn't be
too happy with them when she found out.

Since they hadn't managed to get it going again, they'd had to walk.
Luckily, they were only a few miles away. They were on a road with no pavement,
walking on the grass verges. There weren't many cars, but the occasional one
did whizz by. It had been going dark when they'd broken down. Now, it was dark.
And it was also chucking it down.

"I bet it would have started again if we'd kicked it a bit,"
muttered Nixion darkly.

"You did kick it a bit. In fact, quite a bit more than a
bit," Zathract reminded him, using all his willpower to keep his temper
under control. They had already been late even when they'd been driving, and
after the van had broken down they'd hung around for about an hour while
Zathract had ntried to get it going again, and Nixion had tried to force the
van into going again, but was stopped by Zathract before he turned the van into
scrap metal. Zathract was certain he would've managed to get it going again if
Nixion hadn't started beating it up. Nixion was firmly convinced it would never
have got going again anyway, and besides he had given the van what it deserved
for breaking down and making him walk ten miles in the rain with Zathract.
Zathract pointed out that it was an inanimate object an anyway it was only six
miles, not ten. Nixion had complained that six miles in the rain with him was
eight too many. Zathract had said that he was worse off, having to put up with
Nixion, and anyway if Nixion had just stepped back and let him get on with it,
they wouldn't be in this fix. Nixion had said that Zathract didn't know enough
about engines to get it going anyway. And so on and so on and so on. After
going through this five times, Zathract gave up arguing and just focused on
ignoring Nixion's constant complaining, passing the occasional comment he just
couldn't hold in.

And still three whole miles to go.

It was torture.

Eventually, Nixion shut up and they just squelched along the road in gloomy
silence.

. . .

The man stared down from his position on the roof. They had been waiting a
long time, but soon the waiting would reach it's end. He was glad. It was
almost too late. Tomorrow, it would start being too late. After that, it would
take about a week before it was the right time again. In theory, a week was not
much, and they had all the time in the world. But the longer they waited, the
more time there was for people to find out about them. And besides, the longer
they waited, the longer it would be befo -

Oh. Problems.

He came back from solving the problems only ten minutes later. Just petty arguments.
Being in charge of this many was not easy, but it would be worth it. At least,
he hoped so. If it wasn't, his list, instead of going down a few, would go up
one. No, more than one. Definitely more.

But that probably wouldn't be the case. They were close now, the ones they
were looking for, so very close . . . He could see them now. They all could. It
was making them restless.

He told them, not yet.

Wait for it.

Wait for it . . .

. . .

Zathract and Nixion had reached a town now. Good. Nixion liked cities. A
town wasn't a city, but it was better than that horrible road in the middle of
nowhere. And they had proper streets to walk down. No more horrible wet muddly
grass to walk on.

Suddenly Nixion felt a large, heavy something crash into his back. He
scrambled up and around quickly and instinctively, already holding his machete.
The clawed hand whizzed past his ear, straight into the place his head had been
a moment ago.

Vampire.

Nixion growled and immediately began fighting back, hitting it with his
machete anywhere he could.

"I HATE VAMPIRES!" he roared. "I HATE VAMPIRES EVEN MORE THAN
I HATE NECROMANCERS!" And now one had attacked him. It couldn't live to
regret it, as it wasn't alive, but it would regret it for the rest of it's existence,
Nixion would make sure of that. And 'the rest of it's existence' would only be
a few more minutes, if that.

There were more vampires. Lots of them. Nixion didn't know how or when they
had appeared, but he didn't care.

One moment he was walking beside him, then the next there was a whoosh of
air and the dark shape in the corner of Zathract's eye that was Nixion had
disappeared out of his vision.

Zathract quickly looked round to see Nixion getting up off the ground - he
hadn't disappeared after all, just been knocked over - and throw himself at the
vampire who had leapt on him.

Zathract stayed back. No need to restrain Nixion - it was the vampire who
had attacked him. He didn't need to help him either - Nixion would easily be
able to handle it - it was one vampire, come on - and getting close to Nixion
in a rage was always a bad idea.

"I HATE VAMPIRES!" Nixion was yelling. "I HATE VAMPIRES EVEN
MORE THAN I HATE NECROMANCERS!"

Zathract was about to tell him he'd got the message the seven thousand eight
hundred and third time he'd said it when another vampire leapt out of the
shadows.

And another.

And another.

There were tons of them.

Nixion hadn't even noticed. He was fighting them, but he hadn't noticed
them. Weird.

Although, maybe he did need help after all.

Zathract ran towards him, but a group of Infected stopped him in his tracks,
snarling at him menacingly.

Wait a minute - Infected???

Zathract glanced around quickly, and realised that although it looked
like there were thousands of vampires, most of them were actually Infected. The
vampires had just come at the front to make it them think they were surrounded
by vampires. Like the cheap copies of well-known brands have very similar
names, fonts, packe-

Then one of the vampires in the mix flew forward to attack him, and his
brain was too occupied with keeping himself alive to think about it anymore.

. . .

It was working. He looked down at the two people below, fighting for their
lives. Not long till they were dead. Good. Soon they would get on to the part
that really mattered.

He stood there, watching the fighting without a shred of pity. He just hoped
that not too many of the vampires were damaged. The Infected could easily be
replaced, but the vampires? They were not so easy. He wouldn't have used vampires
at all, not in this stage of the plan, but the boss had insisted. And he needed
the boss. The boss was the way to his revenge.

He felt the beast stirring within him for a moment, and jabbed the serum
into his arm. Some of the Infected were being sent to do the same to some of
the vampires fighting - he wanted to keep everyone under control, and if he
couldn't quite manage that, then he would try his best to control some of them.

He looked down again. the humans were getting more tired now. It would
probably be tiredness that would get them in the end, the effort of keeping on
top of everything. And, fortunately, the end was soon . . .

. . .

Zathract was still fighting, still alive, but it wouldn't be long. and he
knew it.

Then a terrible scream sounded to his left. No, wait, not one. Many. Tons of
terrible screams . . . Zathract wanted to look round, but he was too busy
fighting.

Then the vampires and Infected around him fell still, staring in terror at
whatever was behind him. Zathract could see Nixion a bit further on, also
immobilised.

"Hello, Misty," Eve replied. The vampires and Infected were
beginning to recover from their fright now. They hadn't got long.

"Let's go," said Eve. Zathract shook his head.

"We have to get Nixion."

"Is that him?" Eve asked, pointing at Nixion with one of her very
sharp, pointy fingernails.

"Yes," Zathract replied and Eve stopped projecting at him. Nixion
looked relieved for a moment, then he frowned in confusion.

"Come on, Nix," Zathract called. "It was just an
illusion." Nixion destroyed a few more Infected, then ran forward towards
Zathract and Eve. They waited for him to catch up, then all three of them
charged for the exit, Eve projecting as hard as she could as well as using her
nails and teeth on anyone who got too close. Zathract was also mostly relying
on magic, using the air and the shadows to push vampires and Infected away.
Nixion's attacked were all physical.

Before, it had been hopeless. But now, with Eve, they could make it. they
had to.

. . .

It was all going so well. In only a short amount of time they would have
won.

But then there was a disturbance, at the edge of the crowd. He frowned,
annoyed. There should be no disturbances. It should all be perfect.

He stared at the place where the disturbance was coming from. All these damn
Infected were getting in the way – he couldn’t see what was happening.

Only then he could . . . And he froze in horror.

Oh no. Not that. Please, please, please not that.

He didn't know about Eve and her power. He thought what he was seeing was
real. He kept staring, staring, oblivious to the chaos around him.

And so with their leader not responding, it all fell apart. With nobody to
give the order to chase, the quarry got away.

They made it out the crowd and carried on moving, fearful of being chased.

For some reason, they weren't, apart from one or two of the bloodthirsty
vampires.

"That's strange," Zathract frowned.

"What is?" asked Nixion.

"You'd've thought, after all that trouble they went to to abush us, that
they’d’ve been a little more eager to keep hold of us,” he said.

"Oh, so it was an ambush, was it?" Eve queried curiously. Nixion
looked at her.

"Who even are you anyway?" he asked her rudely. Zathract scowled
at him.

"Be polite!" he hissed. "Sorry about Nix, Eve."

"Are you a Necromancer?" asked Nixion, deciding to ignore the
order to be polite.

"Why do you want to know?" Eve shot back hostily.

"Because I hate Necromancers," Nixion explained. "And I hate
vampires as well. I bet you're a Necromancer. It would be just my luck."

"Shut up!" Zathract told him. "Eve, this is Nixion. Nix, this
is Astrid Vanilla, she likes to be called Eve, and she's not a
Necromancer."

"Good," said Nixion.

"I saved your life today, you know," Eve informed him. "You
should all be on your knees worshipping me. Or at least show a little
gratitude. Perhaps you couls skip the knees part and just worship me standing
up."

"Well, they're vampire. Or almost vampires," said Nixion, as if it
explained everything.

"Meaning . . . ?" Zathract asked.

"Well, they're not human. Who knows why they do stuff? It could be
because of this weird vampire thing that only makes sense to blood-sucking
idiots like them," pointed out Nixion.

"Maybe," Zathract shrugged.

"None of you have started worshipping me yet," Eve reminded them.

"Nope. We haven't," Zathract grinned.

"How come you're even here anyway?" muttered Nixion.

"I was in the area," Eve explained, "and I saw a big crowd.
All dressed in black. All being silent. At first I thought they had just been to
a funeral or something, but then I went a bit closer and saw what they were. I
walked off, waited for a bit deciding whether to interfere or not, then I heard
fighting sounds so I ran up to see what was going on and saw they were
attacking people, and that one of them was Mist. So I helped you two. In fact,
I rescued you. And you still haven't worshipped me yet."

Zathract rolled his eyes, got down on his knees, and put his hands together
in a praying position. "Oh glorious Eve from the heavens, I worship you.
Amen. There, happy?" he stood up, wiping the grime from his trousers.

Eve bowed. "You may throw your roses now."

Nixion looked at Zathract in disbelief. "I can't believe you actually
did that. Anyway, she could be a spy working for them. How do we know we can
trust her?"

Zathract glared at him angrily. "We can trust Eve," he said with
finality.

Eve pulled a face and Zathract shrugged. "Fair enough. Now, we need to
get back to the Sanctuary and explain why we never turned up, but also, we need
to find out why we were ambushed. All other missions can be put on standby,
because they could come back and have another attempt at our lives at any time,
and the less we know, the more danger we're in."

Nixion grinned. This sounded like they might get to kill more vampires.
Good.

"Can I help you?" asked Eve. Zathract looked at her in surprise.

"You want to?" he questioned.

She shrugged. "I'm curious. And, they might kill you. I couldn't let
them do that knowing I might have prevented it. I couldn't let them do that anyway."

Zathract thought about it a minute. Well, why not?

"Thanks," he said. "We could do with your help." Eve
grinned. Zathract countinued, "How about we meet in this town tomorrow,
the place where they have a market?"

"They have a market?" Eve and Nixion asked at the same time.
Nixion glared at her.

"If you look around a bit, you can't miss it," Zathract told them.

"Okay," Eve agreed. "What time?" Zathract thought.

"Well . . . we have to go to the Sanctuary in the morning, so . .
." Nixion groaned. He hated the Sanctuary.

"After lunchtime?" Eve suggested.

"Okay. See you tomorrow, then."

"Bye."

"Bye."

Nixion said nothing.

. . .

Parts Two and Three of the plan had gone exactly . . . well . . . to plan. Excellent.
And nobody, so far, suspected a thing.

. . .

The former head vampire sat in his cell, looking at the walls. He'd already
spent a long time gazing at the floor and then the ceiling, so the walls were
all he had left.

He was nervous. Very nervous. The boss would not like this, not at all. He'd
already heard the screams as people were pressed for information on previos
visits to this place.

Monday, 9 April 2012

So. Here you are. Don't get your expectations up, I don't wanna bring them down again.

Star leant against the wall and tried, once again, to remember. She desperately attempted to focus on what had happened. But no. It just kept slipping from her grasp. She'd've probably achieved a lot more by just falling asleep and hoping to dream about it.

She should probably have gone to school today. Struggling to grab hold of the events that had disappeared out of her mind with her mind obviously wasn't working.

Did that even make sense?

Did it even matter?

Star realised her feet were tapping on the floor and started walking around in a circle to keep them occupied and to help her think. Walking always helped her think.

God, this was so boring. She was just trying to work out the best way to break into school when a person turned the corner and started walking down the otherwise deserted alleyway. Star stopped walking around in circles as she didn't want the random person to think she was mental.

Before she broke into school, she'd have to sneak home and change into her uniform. She couldn't go to school dressed in jeans, trainers and a blue hoodie. Not in England.

Why wouldn't the Santuary phone her? Surely she mus be needed to do something?

More people appeared to be following the random person. They weren't talking to each other. They were just walking together.

Then more people came round the corner. Actually, they were talking. Or rather, bickering. Whatever.

This was quite a large group of people, Star noticed. She wondered what they were doing. They were all different ages, height, builds, genders. There was no apparant reason for them all to be walking together.

One of them, a woman who could have been in her twenties, caught her eye, and she quickly flickered her gaze downwards so it didn't look like she was staring at them. Even though she had been.

Star carried on staring at the floor, trying to see equilateral triangles out of the dots of chewing gum. Then someone banged into her. Hard. She skidded a few steps then turned around and glared. She opened her mouth to protest but a fist slammed into her cheek, cutting her off.

Star kicked him, then dodged backwards to avoid a punch. Then she fell over. One of the others had tripped her up. Her hands and knees - especially her hands, the denim had padded her knees - stinging with the impact, she hurridly scrambled up again. But in the time that had taken, the people had surronded her. They all smelt pretty bad. She took a closer look at them.

Zombies.

Ah, so that's why she could smell rotting flesh . . .

Another one hit her, and then suddenly, they were all at it. Their punches were weak, but she'd still get a few bruises. It hurt. She tried to draw her sword but her arm didn't have enough room. They were standing back a bit, but soon they'd grow in confidence and close in further.

Amazingly, they were still bickering.

"Pink marshmellows are way, way better than white marshmellows!" she heard. "White is the colour of cushions!"

"Cushions can be pink as well!"

"No they can't! Cushions are white! Everyone knows that!"

"I think blue marshmellows are the most awesomista, actually," Star gasped out. The punching and kicking stoppped as they all stared at her in surprise.

"Look!" one of them exclaimed. "That clockwork statue is speaking!" Huh???

"Don't be ridiculous! It isn't a statue, it's a giant pillow on stilts!" Zombies ate human flesh. Why couldn't they work out what she was? A human could tell the difference between a stone carving of a yummy doughnut and a real doughnut, so why did they think she was a pillow or a statue?

"Oh yeah," she said. "It is a statue. But how do you know it's clockwork? It could be controlled from the inside by white marshmellows. White marshmellows are eeeeeeeeeevil." Then suddenly Star knew. The ink in her blood must be distorting her smell. She probs smelt nothing much like a human to them. And she must taste horrible, too. They were only beating her up - or trying to - because their master had commanded them to do so.

"Pink marshmellows are evil! They want to take over the world, then destroy it!"

"I know it's clockwork because it was walking around in circles. If something does that, it's clockwork."

"Why would they want to destroy it if they had control over it?"

"Because they are evil!"

"No, they are clockwork!"

"It still doesn't make sense."

"Look!" one cried, pointing. "That pillow is running away!"

"It's not a pillow, it's an evil marshmellow!"

Star froze. While they were arguing she had first pulled out her sword, then attempted to slip away unnoticed.

"No, I'm a Smurf who drank evil marshmellow juice. It made me grow." Well, it was worth a try. A lot of the zombies just stopped, frowning, but on of them, a woman in her . . .forties? looked like this made perfect sense to her.

"Ah, a Smurf! Well, why didn't you say so before? Are you still looking for big apples? Because I saw a really large one the other day."

"Nope, I found that ages ago. Now, I'm trying to work out which colour marshmellow is the most evil."

Around a third of the zombies were only too happy to oblige, and immediently began shouting out colours. Some of the words they used even appeared in a dictionary.

Unfortunately, another half of the zombies just slapped a sort-of menacing-ish expression on their faves and moved forward for the attack (the other sixth just stood their looking confuzzled).

Could she fight them all off? Well, there was only one way to find out. But Star didn't particularly want to try it. She turned and ran away.

The zombies ran after her. Stupid and marshmellow-hating they might be, they would always obey their master.

Star tore down the alleyway, flew round the corner and raced along the street. Then she stopped. There were houses nearby, and people. She had to lead the zombies away from civilisation.

There. That narrow sidestreet. That would be deserted. She ignored the strange look a passing man gave her and the zombies, and ra-

Thunk.

Something had smacked into her left arm. Something metal. Something that was sharp as well, and very painful. Star gasped and clutched her arm. She felt wetness. Blood.

She looked to her left and ducked as the metal . . .thing . . .was thrown at her. The zombies must've caught up with her when she'd hesitated. She swung her sword at the zombie standing next to her and he broke in half. She looked down at the dead flesh lying on the floor. Yuck.

Well, that wasn't so hard.

Then a china teapot fell on the ground beside her and smashed. The zombies were finding weapons, and using them.

Star made a dash for the sidestreet she'd seen, clutching her damaged arm and trying to ignore the pain throbbing through it. But now there were zombies coming out of it . . . The sidestreet, that is, not her arm. Star had a mad mental image of tiny zombies crawling out of the wound in her arm and paddling away. Or maybe they were even smaller, sailing the sea of her blood in boats and then falling down the miniture Niagra Falls to the floor. Not that she was bleeding enough to make a waterfall of blood.

Star shook herself and tried to focus on the situation at hand.

She turned the only non-zombie-filled way and ran. But now there were zombies ahead of her again.

How was this this possible? Where had they all come from?

Reinforcements. They must be reinforcents.

The pain was clouding her thought, making it hard to concentrate. She was certain of one thing though. There were a horde of zombies surronding her, and they were closing in.

Star looked around desparately. A zombie shuffled within sword range, and she cut it in half. But she couldn't get them all.

This was hopeless. She was going to die here. She just knew it.

Which meant she wouldn't be alive to see the world taken over and then destroyed by blue marshmellows. What a pity.

Well, if she was going to go down, she'd go down fighting. Star slashed her sword at a zombie. But her hand was shaking, and unused to supporting the weight of the sword on it's own. She ususally used two hands. Star had managed to cut the zombie, but he just clutched his stomach, and stayed, very annoyingly, alive. Welll, not alive alive, but not completely dead and umoving. Well, completely dead, but not completely unmoving. Whatever.

She tried holding her sword with both hands regardless of the pain, but it hurt too much. Right hand only, then. Good thing she wasn't left handed. She swung at another zombie and managed to make it back off a bit, but now there was one behind her . . . She turned around to deal with it, but while she was turning yet another one grabbed at her sword, knocking it out of her hand. He dropped it with a howl of pain (he'd wrapped his hand round the blade. Idiot) and Star swooped down to pick it up again.

But in her haste to reclaim her weapon she had momentarily forgotten the zombie who had been behind her. Star got a hold on her sword (the hilt, obviously. She wasn't a total moron. Whereas the blade-grabbing zombie was) and glanced upwards, just in time to see the zombie about to chuck that heavy metal thing from before on her. She shuffled backwards in terror . . . Straight into another load of zombies, who immediently grabbed tight hold of her to stop her escaping and began hitting her with their hands and whatever they had in them. Only air for the mo, but weapons were being passed through the zombies towards them.

That death she was speaking about earlier? It was here now. Shame. She'd've liked to've remembered her life before it ended.

Then suddenly Star saw a flash of red out of the corner of her eye. She looked in the direction she'd seen it and saw a load of dead zombies lying on the ground. Well, zombies can't technically die, but they were dead, and they had been zombies, so they were dead zombies.

Plus Star saw their killer. Well, she was sort of their killer. You can't kill something that's already dead, but she put an end to their existence and their annoyzigness. Their existence-ender, then. Ender for short. So, you don't kill zombies, you end them. Well, at least that was sorted.

Right. The ender. She had red hair and a red glowing thing in her hand, but Star couldn't see more than that. The rest of the zombies who were unended looked as surprised as Star did to see her.

Which meant that, for the moment, they had stopped attacking.

Star, once she realised her opportunity, seized it. She dived through the blur of colours that was the zombies, slashing and chopping as she went. Funny, the colours thing. You usually associated zombies with gloomier stuff. She headed towards the person who was helping her. Strength in numbers and all that lot.

Star reached her just as the stunned zombies started becoming less stunned and tried to fight back. The girl held a long curved sword that was glowing red with purple flecks. Star wondered about it for a bit, then gave up. She looked a couple of years older than Star and her ice blue eyes burned with hatred - fortunately directed at the zombies she was destroying, not Star. Well, she might hate Star, for some complicated conspirital unknown reason, or she might hate Star in the future, but, right now, she didn't seem to-

Star made an effort to stop her thoughts rambling off track again. And, a few moments later, failed miserably.

Robin hadn't known who the person was they were attacking was, but it didn't matter - she needed help and zombies were an enemy always. Without thinking about it, she ran towards them and began chopping as many of their heads off as fast as she could. When they saw her they often froze in terror and one of them even yelled something about the arrival of the wrath of the Smurfs, whatever a Smurf was.

Then someone tapped her on the shoulder and Robin swung round, katana already aiming to make the zombie even deader than it already was.

"Hey!" Star yelped, jumping back, then stumbling as she landed on the remains of a zombie. "I'm alive! I mean, I'm not a zombie!"

Robin gave a nod and sheathed her weapon. "Sorry."

Then before they could say anything else, a load more zombies lept on Star , who yelped as pressure was put on her injured arm. Robin quickly ended them.br />
"Thanks," gasped Star breathlessly.

"Hey, Smurf," a zombie girl yelled. "You do know there's such thing as vanilla marshmellows, right? They're yellow and they have to be the most evil coz they're the same colour as custard. Custard is horrible, it's all lumpy and it's-"

Star took a leaf from Robin's book and chopped it's head off, instead off cutting it in half like she had previously.

"We have to move out," she panted. "There are too many of them. We'll never get them all."

Robin frowned. "Are you suggesting we just give up?"

"Retreating isn't giving up," Star argued. "If it was giving up, it'd be called giving up, but it isn't, it's called retreating. There are tons of them and only two of us. if you want, you can always have a rematch later."

Robin couldn't really think of anything to counter this that would win, and besides, the other girl did look like she was in quite a bit of pain. They could always pick the arguement up when they were out of the danger zone. "All right. We'll retreat."

Robin made a mad dash for the edge of the crowd, and Star followed suit as quickly as she could. The zombies were actively fighting them now, and it was all Star could do to stay alive. She'd lost sight of the girl she was following, but that was only to be expected as Star wasn't really looking. She could only pay attention to one thing at a time.

The zombies were pulling, tugging, ripping, tearing, in front, behind, screaming, begging, threatening, pushing, shoving, fighting, and incredibly annoying. Robin was holding back to help Star now, who was finding it tough going. And it wasn't exactly easy for Robin either. She had to be constantly moving, never letting her guard down, and it took up a lot of her energy.

Finally, they were out. Once the way ahead was clear of obstacles (even after the zombies, there'd been all these boxes outside someone's house for some unknown reason - maybe they were cleaning the house and chucking a load of stuff out?) Star and Robin broke into a run. Star fumbled with her sword, slipping it back into it's sheath - it'd slow her down if she was holding it - but Robin kept her katana in her hand. It was still glowing, but not as strongly as before.

They stopped, panting.

"I think we've lost them," Robin said. Her weapon stopped glowing and she put it away.

"Um . . . Thanks," said Star. "For, um, you know . . . Helping me."

"I hate zombies," Robin replied.

"What's your name?" asked Star.

"Robin Snowscar," Robin answered. "I'm a Fire Sworn, one of the Originals. Pleased to meet you.

"Um . . . Right," Star said, pretending she knew what the hell a swore or whatever it was was. "I'm Star. Star Inkbright." Then she added, polietly, "It's nice to meet you too." Yes, being saved from zombies was nice, but needing to be saved from them in the first place certainly wasn't. So, really, the actual meeting was not nice, although the fact that they had met was very very nice indeed, for Star at least.

"Your arm's bleeding," Robin noted.

"I had realised that," said Star, trying hard not to sound annoyed. "It is my arm. And it kills."

"What does it kill?"

"Um . . . I dunno . . . Evil blue marshmellows?"

"Evil blue marshmellows?" Robin frowned.

"Yeah. They're evil. And they're blue. And they're marshmellows. Which is why they're called evil blue marshmellows. I'm not sure they actually exist though. Oh, and it's also going to have killed me soon. It hurts."

"It's not that bad. You'll live," Robin told her hardly. Can you say something hardly? Well, never mind. So long as people can sort of know what you're saying, you can use whatever words you want. That was what Star believed, anyway.

"I will? Yippee." Star considored quoting Ice Age 2, but when she did that not many people knew what she was going on about, so she decided against it.

"Why were they attacking you?" Robin adked, deciding ro let the sarcasm pass. Just this once.

"I have no idea," Star said. Robin raised an eyebrow sceptically. Star didn't blame her. It didn't sound very believable. Most people who were attacked by an army of zombies knew why they were being attacked. Not Star. But then, she had had The Incident.

Star tried again.

"I'm serious. There I was, doing my own thing, and then suddenny, out of the blue, a bunch of zombies just came up and attacked me. Really, honestly and truly." Yeah,well done Star, that was real convincing. Full marks.

"Are you sure?" asked Robin.

"Yes," answered Star defiantly.

"Have you annoyed anyone, ever, who might possibly have an army of zombies at their disposal?"

Star racked her memory. "Erm . . . I don't think so . . . I'm not sure! I'm really rubbish at remembering stuff-" (she always had been, even before The Incident) "-but I don't think I've annoyed anyone like that . . ." But, seriously! How on earth did people expect her to remember this stuff? As if having a crap memory wasn't bad enough without having a chunk of your life disappear! And, anyway - well, how was she meant to know and remember who had an army of zombies at their disposal? And if they had the motivation to use it? And if she had annoyed them or not? Star didn't usually try to be annoying, so when she did, it was often without realising it - SO HOW WAS SHE MEANT TO KNOW IF SHE'D ANNOYED PEOPLE IF SHE DIDN'T EVEN KNOW SHE WAS BEING ANNOYING??? Seriously! If people wanted her to pay attention to this stuff, THEY'D HAVE TO LEARN TO ASK HER BEFOREHAND!

Part of the reason she was panicking was because of The Incident, but she didn't like discussing that with anyone, especially not total strangers. Even if the total stranger had saved her life.

"Sorry. I really, really, really don't know," Star said, her memory rant over. Hopefully it would be a while before it was triggered again, but, very likilily, it wouldn't. Not with The Incident still clouded in shadows.

Likilily. Another nonsensical word to add to the metaphorical list.

"No-one springs to mind?" Robin was watching her carefully. Those ice-blue eyes were creeping Star out a little.

"Nope. But, like I said, my memory is awful. In some ways. In others, it's a very good memory. In the way I'm trying to use it now, it's rubbishio though."

Ha. Rubbishio. This brought her metaphorical list of nonsensical words up to . . .

. . . A number. Star could never actually be bothered to count.

'Well, if you can't remember them, then they aren't likely to remember you, unless they are a revenge-seeking person who holds grudges over little things."

"Or just have a better memory than I do." Or could remember everything that had happened in The Incident. It was this that scared Star most. She was so afraid of the Incident, what it was, what had happened.

"Or that." Or, Star could be lying. This was the most likely option, and the option Robin chose to believe. People weren't attacked like that for no reason, and the whole bad memory story was very unlikely. There was something Star wasn't telling her. Robin kept this to herself and planned to be wary of Star and watch her very closely. Very closely indeed.

Nixion Strange
punched the bag with an extreme ferocity only someone like he could muster. In
fact it was quite possible, even likely, that Nixion was the only one who could must that much ferocity. Nixion
was someone with so much pent up anger, so much rage, that he would take it out
on anyone who got in his way. That was a good description of Nixion.

He quickly
changed his tactic and went for two low punches before coming up with a high
one after. The punching bag swayed violently and threatened to snap off the
string. In a fight, Nixion never wanted anyone predicting his attacks which was
the reason most of his time was spent attacking the punching bag brutally these
days. Each time, each day, he would use a different kind of combination until
he had mastered it, then would extend it until by the end of the day he would
have a combination of attacks that would last an age. With each hit, Nixion
grew angrier and angrier; he was unstable and unpredictable. Soon the punching bag
began insulting his intelligence in Nixion’s mind. Practically growling in
anger, Nixion forgot about being tactical now, forgot his combination he had
been working on for the last two hours, and punched the bag. Hard. Incredibly
hard. He hit it once. Twice. Three times. He punched it as hard as he could
again and again and again, every punch simply making him angrier. Every punch
brought back another painful memory. Punch. His
kidnapping. Punch. The torture.
Punch. The brainwashing. Punch. The murder.

Tears did not
gather in his eyes, instead they gathered in his mind before being pulverized
and mutating themselves into misshapen forms of rage and Nixion snapped. He
roared in a blind rage and a single punch to where the gut on a human would be
took the punching bag spinning off the rope that connected it to the ceiling
and it came crashing onto the floor. He and the bag went rolling across the
ground of his dojo and Nixion dived after it. He landed on top of the bag and
sent fists raining down upon it. In a matter of minutes the bag threatened to
spill it’s sand over the floor and Nixion was only too happy to assist it.

“I HATE YOU!” he
bellowed and there was a huge swipe and next second sand was pouring out of a
large gash across the punching bag. Nixon sat on top of it holding the machete
he had just pulled out from his jacket in his hand. He slowly stood up, panting
heavily in a controlled fury. He wiped his forehead, ridding it of sweat before
hearing something in the room. In the second he realized he wasn’t alone,
Nixion blurred and spun, his machete held to the intruders throat. A glare
leaped to his face when he saw who it was. Standing in front of him were
Nixion’s…friends. His machete was held to Zathract Mist’s throat who stood
there with a cocky smirk on his face. Nixion just called him Mist. He just
called him Nix. The two pissed each other off to unbelievable amounts. Mist had
once saved Nixion’s life, and he would never let him forget it. His black hair
fell over his ears and back of his head. He had emerald eyes that practically
gaze into ones soul. That was all quite weird and always made Nixion feel
uneasy, no matter how different he pretended. He was a Necromancer, an
elemental, and a person who viewed anyone as a “bad guy” to be despised. Since
Nixion used to be a ‘bad guy, it was safe to say that that he and Mist argued.
A lot. An unnaturally unnerving amount, every time they met.

Next was Kali
Nole. She was the oldest in the room, a full sixty-two years old, though, if
you looked at her, she would only seem twenty-two. She had the odd adept
ability to turn her hands into small weapons, anything she needed. Nixion had
seen them become knifes, guns, and even a small bomb, which she had thrown at
of group of sorcerers. Though they seemed to have a limit to the number of
bullets, and bombs she could make. Knifes were by far the easiest to create,
she had said once, and definitely her favourite. She had shoulder length gold
hair, brown eyes, and had a good sense of humour.

After her was
Thomas Phillips. He had the ability to bend metal with ease, as if it was
tinfoil. The easiness ranged from the different types of metal, but he could
bend, or brake, nearly metal he came in contact with. It had its uses, sure,
but Nxion could never understand why Thomas hadn’t chosen an ability
more…interesting. He was slightly younger, and shorter, than Nixion. He had
blue eyes and blonde hair, and wore what a normal thirteen year old would. He
was a good fighter. One of the best. Still, Nixion was confident he could beat
him, kill him. It would only take a single touch.

He banished the
thoughts from his head and Nixion's eyes flickered to the last person in the
room. At the end was Mahogany Reen. She was an old girl, to say the least. She
loved to use magic in everyday life, but for some reason hated to use it in a
fight unless faced with no other option. Nixion never understood that either.
She seemed intrigued by people’s personalities, and was, by far, the kindest of
everyone here.

“Why are you
here?” he asked roughly not lowering the machete and looking at each of them.
Mist grinned, Kali pretended to pout, Thomas rolled his eyes and Mahogany
frowned at him.

“Trouble,” said
Mist, still grinning. “And you’re not gonna like it.”

2.

PROBLEM

Kali drove them in
her van. She had a Mercedes as well, but since no one else had a licence, she
had to drive everyone in situations like this. Nixion did not find it amusing,
instead he found it annoying. He never liked sitting in cars and definitely not
long trips such as this; they pissed him off. Everything pissed him off.
Technically, Mahogany was old enough to get a licence, but she kept failing the
driver’s test. Each time the topic was bought up all she did was mumble
something about drag racing and then diverted the conversation to exotic foods.
It was a long drive and with each red light they stopped at Nixion groaned in a
bored tone and attempted to fight the urge to push Kali out of the driver’s
seat and stamp on the gas. He managed to remain patient enough to last the
journey but one they arrived, Nixion did not feel any better. No one had told
him the destination, admittedly he had not asked, but Nixion had expected it to
be almost anything but the Australian Sanctuary. Nixion’s face collapsed into a
glare and consumed his expression and mood. This was the place he had almost
died. Should Nixion have had a different attitude, perhaps he would have
admitted that he had also attempted to murder the Grand Mages while in there,
but he didn’t and still hated the place. To add to his misfortune, this was
also where his old house was, near to where he was kidnapped. Nixion repressed
a shudder and continued glaring as memories flooded his mind, the barricade
holding them back collapsing suddenly and violently against his will…

Nixion was ten and his name wasn’t Nixion.
Aiden was ten and he had no troubles in the world other than lack of sleep and
a slowly growing homework load that waited for him on his bedroom table. He was
very much dreading the time when he arrived home in a few minutes and would be
forced with having to complete some of it before he could submerge into
blissful sleep. And then of course there would be school again. Aiden did not
like school much, but he continued going every day anyway. In the back of his
mind a stray thought always told him that his life should be so much more,
would be so much more, if only he would let it. The bag on his back was heavy
and Aiden dragged his eyes up from the footpath below him to look at his
surroundings. Small shops were lined up beside Aiden and across the road from
him. In front of him was a black car that was parked with windows dark,
obscuring whoever may be sitting in it. He continued walking and out of the
corner of his eye saw two men wearing black open the doors of the car as he
passed it.

One of the men was slightly smaller and
hunched over and wore a top hat Aiden had seen magicians wear. The other had a
leaner and larger build, his expression making Aiden feel uneasy. He continued
walking and strained his ears to hear the two men’s conversation.

“And you’re sure you can do this?” the hunched
over man asked with a thin and raspy voice.

“He’s a kid,” the large of the men replied
dismissively. Aiden’s heart leaped but did not change his pace. “How hard can
it be? I want my payment now.” There was a short pause and Aiden turned his
head slightly in time to see the large man ticking away a large envelope
stuffed with what he guessed was cash. “Thank you.” The man said and begun
walking towards Aiden. He was seriously scared now and he wondered vaguely why
his knees were now knocking together each time he took a new step. He could
hear the man getting closer…and then Aiden ran. Next second, however, he was on
the ground, the large man on top of him

“L-leave me al-alone.” Aiden trembled in a
gasp. The man smirked.

“Sorry,” he said. “Can’t do that. Don’t worry
though; it’ll only be a year, as far as I hear.” And then a cloth was clamped
over his mouth. With a breath, Aiden’s vision suddenly grew blurry and the
faint voice in the back of his head said “chloroform” in a knowing tone before
Aiden passed out.

“Nixion,” someone
said. A hand was gripping his arm painfully tight. He was bought back to the
present abruptly and he realized they were in an old, dirty canteen of an
abandoned school; the entrance to the Sanctuary. The staircase leading down
into it was already revealed so someone had already presented valid magic to
the tile on the ground. He scowled. Mist scowled back at him.

“And we just had
to come here?” Nixion asked him, disgusted. “Sometimes I think you’re trying to
get me killed.” Mist gave him a look.

“We need the
Sanctuary’s resources.” He told Nixion. “And I’m obligated under Sanctuary
regulations to inform the Elders of something of this magnitude.”

“Which,” Nixion
continued. “Brings me to my second thing to complain about. Why am I even here?
Why do I have to help you?”

“Much? MUCH?”
Nixion roared. “Last time I was here, they tried to kill me! You’re damn well
right I don’t like the Sanctuary much!”

Thomas stepped forward

“Shut up, both of
you. The door’s open, and we’re going inside.” He glared at Nixion as if daring
him to disagree. Nixion glared right back at him.

They probably
would have continued to glower at each other for a couple of more hours, but
Kali got impatient and walked forwards down the staircase.

“Come on,” she
called after them.

Thomas took an
extra five seconds to stare at Nixion, and then he followed her, Mahogany close
behind. Nixion looked around and realised that only he and Mist was left. They
looked at each other for half a second before Nixion hurried after the rest of
the group; almost being killed was one thing, being left alone with Mist was a
whole different level of torture.

The five of them
looked like a very odd group walking through the Sanctuary. Kali had her hands
in front of her and seemed to be testing how fast she could alter her fingers
into knives and back. Mahogany used the air to lift her off the ground and
suspend her in the air every few seconds before dropping back to the ground and
repeating the process. Thomas had yanked a long rusted pipe from the canteen on
his way in and was now folding it into an origami crane after having flattened
it out to a simple piece of square steel. Mist was humming a metal tune and
Nixion was humming a different metal tune. Both kept set expressions but the
two were trying to become louder than the other making it sound like a cow
giving birth whenever notes clashed. Nixion had to admit, it sounded horrible,
but continued at it, not giving up a chance to annoy Mist.

Mist pushed open
the door and stepped into a large circular room lit with flames on torches hung
on the walls. The entire place was built with huge creamy coloured bricks that
gave the whole thing an ancient castle feeling. The Administrator turned to
them and hurried forwards as the two stopped humming and Nixion’s glare leaped
back to his face.

“Um…” the
Administrator said in a voice that indicated a struggle. He closed his eyes,
opened them again, and pointed at Mist. “Zathract,” he said before moving his
finger to Mahogany. “Ms Reen, Kali and…Uh…” he closed his eyes again and with
one hand pointed at Thomas, the other hitting his head hard. The Administrators
eyes flew open. “David!” he said with a huge smile. “That’s right, David!”

“Uh, no,” Thomas
said frowning. “My name’s-”

“Wonderful!” the
Administrator said, not hearing Thomas speaking. “It’s the first time I’ve got
everyone in a group large than two!”

Nixion frowned
too.

“Do I not exist?”
he asked. “Oh, don’t get me wrong though, I don’t want to be here. I was perfectly content ripping a punching bag to
shreds, but apparently I have to come to the damn Sanctuary, my potential death
place. I would at least like to be recognized for sacrificing precious moments
of my life.”

“We request an
audience with the Elder Council.” Mist said before the Administrator could
continue the argument.

“Of course.” He
said, back to his cheery mood. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No.” Mist
replied.

“I shall inform
them and be back when they have time to see you.” He said and bustled off.

“Come on then…”
Mist sighed and trudged off to a door close by, everyone else following him.
The door had the words “Waiting Room” etched into it and a memory of him
blasting the door down forced its way back into Nixion’s mind. He sat down in a
comfortable chair in the next room while the others sat around him.

“Do you think
we’ll be waiting long?” Kali asked.

“Last time we
were all here we were fighting Nix who ended up killing a quarter of the
staff.” Mist replied.

Nixion frowned. “I
could’ve sworn that there were more.” He said slowly.

Mist ignored the interruption.
“Yes, I think we’ll be waiting long.”

***

They sat around
in the waiting room for an hour before the Administrator finally came to see
them again. In the time that had elapsed Nixion entertained himself by
complaining about the Sanctuary which annoyed Mist, Mahogany and Kali, they’re
expressions and retorts of which kept him amused for the most part. At his
word, everyone stood up and followed the Administrator out of the room, Nixion
lagging behind long enough to annoy Kali again which bought another smirk to
his face. They stepped through a large door while the Administrator stayed
behind and found themselves in a huge room with the three Elders sitting high
above them on chairs concealed from their sight by rounded cylinder material
that curved around each of them. The Grand Mage’s eyebrows rose slightly at the
sight of the group.

“Zathract Mist,”
he said. “And accomplices I have not seen since battling the menace behind
you.”

“Yes, apparently
I’m supposed to at least pretend to sound what they call “professional” one a
week.” He informed Mist.

“How sad.”

“Indeed. So, what
brings you here? And why have you bought a criminal along with you?” his eyes
narrowed in on Nxion and for some reason, Mist didn’t speak. All three of the
Elders were looking at him intently now. “I remember you…” the Grand Mage said
softly. Seeing his chance, Nixion slowly raised a hand, his glare still on his
face and the Grand Mage’s eyes widened as his hand extended a palm towards him.

“Hi,” he said brightly, glare vanishing and
palm snapping into a cheerful wave. At the flick the Grand Mage ducked quickly
behind the cylinder, the Elder on the right curled into a ball trying to hide
himself and the other had attempted to hide behind a fork.

“What is he doing
here?” the Grand Mage asked as he sat back up and his college discarded the
fork. Nixion grinned again on the inside as the memory of his machete to the
Grand Mage’s throat flashed into his mind. He was assuming they hadn’t forgotten
the incident either. Mist glanced around at him, scowled, before turning back
to the Elders.

“He was proven
innocent of all charges. He has every right to be here.” Mist said, though also
gave a hint of dislike towards Nixion.

“That is true,”
the Grand Mage said, “But it doesn’t give him a right to greet us in such a
manner.”

“What, waving?”
Nixion asked incredulously.

“Waving, indeed.”
The Grand Mage nodded.

“I’ll…try not to
do it in the future.” Nixon said uncertainly.

“That’s all I
ask.”

“Grand Mage,” the
Elder on the left spoke up. “Requesting permission to arm myself with a shield
wider than a fork.”

“Permission
granted.” The Grand Mage said and slammed a pen onto the table in front of him
like a mallet, shattering it upon impact. The Grand Mage swiped the bits of
plastic pen away from him and continued talking to Mist.

“So, why are you
here then?”

“As you know,
there is a serious problem slowly rising in the country.” Mist said, finally
getting to business and Nixion begun paying attention.

“Is this about Home
Mart not selling the milky cheese anymore?” the Grande Mage asked.

“No,” Mist
said. But that’s dreadful too. This is
about a secret organization of Sorcerers called…” he hesitated.

“No, I’m serious
now. They’re called “Lvin’ Evil More Often Than Not. Or L.E.M.O.N. for short.”

“But there’s a T
in there.” The Grand Mage frowned. “Shouldn’t it be L.E.M.O.T.N?”

“Well, there not
very good spellers…”

“I swear,” the
Grand Mage said, “Just state the damn-”

“No, no, they’re
Lemon-Cheese-”

“For god’s sake,
just-!”

“The Remaining,”
Mist said, banishing the grin from his face. “They’re called the Remaining.”

“Right,” the
Grand Mage said, his face turning a little less red. “And what do we know about
them?”

“Almost nothing,”
Mist admitted. “I’ve been investigating odd cases now and then, and I began to
notice a pattern. Jail breaks, murders, theft, kidnappings.”

Nixion stomach
lurched at the last word, but he didn’t say anything.

“What pattern
relates to these things?” the Grand Mage asked.

“Certain people
disappearing, certain people being sighted, certain people escaping, you know.”
Mist said casually.

“Ah, yeah.” The
Grand Mage replied. “Anything other than people?”

“All the things
happened to people involved in the war. The kidnappings and murders were done
to old war time leaders, the thefts were done on old war weapons, and the jail
breaks were done on old war buddies from the other side.”

“So these guys
are focused on the War.” The Grand Mage said. “Joy.”

One of the Elders
leant forward. “And for how long have these crimes been going on.

“Over the last
eighty years.”

Everyone looked
at Mist and said nothing. Nixion knew why they were looking so worried. Over
eighty years, the Remaining would have had plenty of time to get allies, kill
enemies’, and have a huge, deadly plan, ready and set to go any time.

“Because I only
noticed them when I started investigating the break-out of Charles Hamond.”
Mist replied, his eyes narrowing.

Charles Hamond,
warlock on the side battling alongside Mevolent, was in charge of defeating the
Australian Sanctuary in the war. He had been feared, and still was, all over
Australia. No one ever knew how Mevolent’s men managed to convince the warlock
to join forces with them during the war, but it happened and Charles was one of
the small number of warlocks who ever joined a side.

The Grand Mage
took a deep breath. “Alright. You, again, have all of the Sanctuary’s resources
during this crisis.”

“Thanks very
much.” Mist said gruffly.

“Just fix it.”
The Grand Mage said in a tired voice as they walked for the door.

“Have I ever let
you down before?”

“Once.”

“Oh,” Mist
muttered. “Yes…that one time.” They exited the building and only talked again
when they were walking away from the canteen and travelling in the school.

“Alright, if we
have to solve this, then we’ll need help.” Mist had taken the tone of
authority. Nixion didn’t like this.

“I know a few
people,” Kali said. “They might help us.”

“Alright, Kali,
Thomas and Mahogany, you go as a group,” Mist said. “Get as many people as you
can that you know can be trusted and I’ll go with Nix to get some others.”

Nixion looked at
him. “What?” he asked pissed again.

“I’m not happy
with it either,” Mist said. “Me, you.” He shook his head. “No.”

“I don’t want to
go with you.”

“You have no
choice.”

“I hate you right
now.”

“It’s almost like
we have a telepathic link that makes us feel the same way.” Mist said as they
strode away from the three walking in the opposite direction. Nixion glowered.

3.

DEATH-OBSESSED
IDIOTS, BLOODSUCKING MORONS AND THE GIRL

Seeing as Kali
was the only one who could drive, Nixion and Mist had to catch the bus to their
destination. They were doing a classified mission for the Australian Sanctuary
on which the fate of the country, possibly even the world, could depend and
yet, they were taking the bus. Nixion was really beginning to hate doing jobs
for the Sanctuary. He would have asked whether or not they could have taken
Mist’s motorbike if it were not for the fact that they would have to take the
bus to his house anyway. He also didn’t like the idea of sitting behind Mist.
So they took the bus and the two swayed as it turned a corner sharply. Mist was
making a checklist of the people who they should go and see. Nixion could never
understand Mist. A checklist, seriously? From the day they met, Mist had been
weird and argumentative against everything Nixion thought. He could never see
from Nixion’s point of view and away from his own narrow minded one.
Admittedly, Nixion was exactly the same towards Mist but he didn’t see it that
way. Mist was convinced that Nixion needed to change, that being a “bad guy”,
was the worst thing imaginable and even though Nixion wasn’t like that anymore,
his attitude of hatred had not shifted, something Mist despised. Nixion had been
perfectly happy being a murderer. Being insane may have had something to do
with it. The part about being hunted around the world was a downer, but it had
at least been fun. Well, maybe not fun, but it was definitely better than this.

Mist looked down
at the first name on his checklist. He had most of their numbers, but he had
said it was easier to convince someone in person. Nixion totally agreed. How
can you torture someone from a phone? He supposed it would be easy for Mist;
anyone would agree to his terms just to stop him talking to them.

“Okay, we’re here.” Mist stood up as the bus
rounded another corner and motioned for the bus driver to pull up. After he did
so and the doors opened, Nixion and Mist walked off it and strode up a hill.
They walked for only thirty seconds before Mist stopped him and walked up the
pathway to a familiar looking house. Nixion couldn’t remember why it rang a
bell in his mind though.

“This is Gabriel Cobalt’s house,” Mist said,
as if reading Nixion’s mind. Now he realised why it looked familiar. He had
been here before, back when he was insane. Gabriel did not take sides and was
basically a nice guy. He had given Nixion a place to stay for a few nights when
he was in such a bad state he couldn’t bring himself to kill an ant. Of course,
it cost him a favour, but Nixion and obliged willingly. Honestly, it wasn’t
even that hard. The sorcerer hadn’t put up much of a fight after Nixion had
regained his strength.

They walked up
the driveway and somehow made it to the door without arguing. Mist knocked and
waited patiently for an answer. At last, a pale young woman answered the door,
surveyed the two for a moment before stood back as an invitation of welcoming.
As they walked along the long hallway and past the woman, Mist and Nixion
observed the objects on pedestals and hanging from the wall. They sat down and
waited for Gabriel while Nixion cast his mind back to the start of his decent
to madness, the beginning of his torture…

Aiden’s eyes opened slowly, his vision
unfocused, blurry and groggy. He was thoroughly confused but under that a thick
layer of fear gripped at his soul tightly. It took him a second to remember
what had happened, but when he did, he looked around wildly, panic rising
inside. He remembered someone jamming something over his mouth and then blacking
out. After that there was nothing to remember. Aiden’s eyesight slowly returned
and he saw he was the only person in a small room. It was empty except for a
door, which he was facing, and a single chair, on which he was currently bound
to. Before he could attempt to break free of the chair, the door swung open and
the smaller of the men from the street walked through, a smug grin on his face.

“The physic said you could take it.” the man
said as he approached Aiden. “Not like the others. They didn’t last. Weren’t
strong enough.” Aiden waited until he was bent down, looking right at him
before he spat in his face. The man staggered back, wiping most of it away and
while he lowered one hand, the other remained clamped to his eye. A glare
leaped to the man’s face and he spun around and crossed half the room in a
single step to deliver a fist which collided with Aiden’s check. His head
snapped sideways and stars burst from his eyesight, his world spinning.

“What do you want with me?” he asked, his
vision blurry once again, head spinning. He could not actually see him, but
Aiden knew the man was smiling.

“I’m going to teach you something almost no
one else can do. It’ll be hard, and you’ll never be the same afterwards, but
it’s worth it. For me, anyway.”

“You’ll see this from my point of view one
day. I need to pass on the tradition to someone, and fortunately for you, kid,
it looks like that one guy’s gonna be you.” He turned and walked for the door
again. “Don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll get along fine.” He walked out. Aiden felt
his heart beating wildly. When the man came back, he was pushing a tray with metal
objects on them. Most of them were pointy.

The man made his way back to Aiden before
looking down at the tray and adopted an expression of deep thought. Finally he
picked one out and turned on Aiden whose vision was now clear again. The object
came closer and closer and before he knew it, Aiden was screaming.

“Nixion.” Mist
was looking at him with a glare.

“What?” he asked
a little defensively. Mist made a gesture to someone standing in front of them.
Gabriel Cobalt stood a few feet away, half smiling.

“You okay Nix?”
he asked.

“Yes.” Nixion
glowered. “And don’t call me “Nix”.”

Gabriel shrugged
but did not object and waited for either Mist or Nixion to speak next.

The room was
filled with a few weapons, mostly made of metal and insanely pointy, but mainly
it was filled with shelves and shelves and more shelves of books. Some were
tiny and thin, other were huge and held an incredibly thick amount of text. It
was not just that room either, Nixion remembered; the entire house was filled
with virtually nothing but food, weapons and books. Gabriel walked away from
the lounge they were sitting on and sat behind a desk not too far away and
continued to wait for someone to speak.

Everyone knew
Gabriel’s story. He wasn’t well known and most of the tales that were told had
Gabriel entitled under a different name. Still, many people in the country had
at least heard of the way Gabriel discovered magic and quickly ascended to
amazing levels of power simply through symbols. He even created some of his own
which he subcategorized under the name of “Sigils”.

At the age of 20,
Gabriel stumbled across a book full of instructions on how to learn symbol
magic. Interested at the fantasy, Gabriel read through it and became more
interested with whoever wrote it, even though he didn't actually believe any of
it. Unfortunately for him there was no information on the author, not even a
name, thus leaving him with no leads on which to conduct a search with. Though
he didn’t believe in anything the book said, Gabriel marvelled at how amazing
it would be to have the kind of things written, the kind of power. In an
attempt he knew would not work to get the power mentioned in the book, Gabriel
carved a symbol into his hand. As soon as it was completed, power surged
through Gabriel and his fists pumped with energy. Within five minutes the
symbol had faded, but his power remained and Gabriel stood mobile, amazed.
Finally he moved and marvelled at the incredible power he now had at his
disposal, the book suddenly becoming clear. He then decided that all this was
actually real and realized that it was also dangerous, that there would be
other people like him now too. Magic…He decided to keep it a secret. Gabriel
then moved away from his family and got an apartment far away from them in
order to protect them. He barricaded himself and became isolated to the outside
world while doing nothing but study magic. He eventually found more and more
books and became an expert on symbols and arcane languages magic

Gabriel soon
realized that he was aging slower and assumed that that was because he was
learning magic. He got more and more books on other kinds of magic and learned
all about the secret magical subculture. He then chose a magic type, Adept, and
became a sorcerer. Gabriel finally moved from the apartment again and sought
out his own house.

Gabriel waited a
few more moments and when the pair did not speak up; he decided to break the
silence.

“Nixion,” he said
softly. “Zathract, it’s such a pleasure.” his smile made him look slightly
sinister.

“This isn’t a
social visit,” Nixion said coldly. He hated being here. It reminded him of a
weaker version of himself and Nixion hated being weak.

“We need to know
where these people are.” Mist said in a business-like fashion and handed
Gabriel the list he had made. He flicked through it slowly making, occasionally
making comments such as “Her, really?” or “Hold on, is he even alive?”
Eventually, he handed the list back to Mist. “I can tell you where three of
those people are, but the other four I know nothing of their current location.”

“Thank you,” Mist
said curtly. “It’s very much appreciated.”

“Before I divulge
the information though,” Gabriel said. “I also noticed my name was on there.”
He raised an eyebrow. “May I ask what the list is for?”

“Potential allies
for a potential upcoming war against a group of Sorcerers.” Mist said
dismissively.

“And who are the
Sorcerers?” he asked.

“They call
themselves-” Mist started but Nixion turned on him before he continue.

“I swear to god I
will kill you if you go through with that again.” He said menacingly. Cobalt
raised another eyebrow but did nothing more and waited for Mist to talk again.

Nixion’s hand flew
to his machete, anger flaring inside of him. Gabriel did not move and continued
smiling, amused.

“So will you help
us?” Mist asked, managing to keep his voice completely empty of emotion, a feat
Nixion would not have managed at that moment.

“I’ll give you
the addresses of these three people.” He said.

“And what about
helping us yourself?” Mist asked.

“And why would
I?” Gabriel asked. “I could die in this potential war.” Nixion had to admit, it
was a good answer.

Mist shrugged.

“You could die if
you don’t help us and we fail.” He said.

“You make a good
point.” Gabriel replied.

“So will you
help?” Mist asked again while Nixion’s hand slowly released his machete.

“No, I think I’ll
sit this one out and watch it unfold.” Gabriel scribbled down something on the checklist
and handed it back to Mist. Gabriel smiled again, but this time it was cold.
“Now get out.”

Mist shook his
head sadly, as if he actually expected better, and got up from the lounge,
Nixion following. He caught sight of Gabriel muttering something under his
breath as they left and went back to writing something on a sheet of paper he
had in front of him. They stepped out of the house and begun walking again, now
without any method of transportation.

“Did the bastard
leave us anything of value?” he asked, bored.

“He gave us
addresses like he said...” Mist muttered, scanning the sheet. “I already know
where one is so if we can convince all four of the ones we can see to help us
in addition to the people the others manage to get, we should be going along
nicely.”

“So, which four
lucky idiots will join us in our suicide mission?” Nixion asked.

“Gabriel gave us
the addresses of Neon Dark, Jake Hunter and Lyra Blue.”

Nixion snorted.

“Neon dark?” he
laughed. “What sort of name is that?”

Mist looked at
him. “He’s a Necromancer.” He explained when Nixion did not speak again.

Nixion’s grin
faded.

“It had to be a
Necromancer… I hate Necromancers.”

“At least it’s
not a vampire.” Mist told him.

“Yeah, at least
there’s that.” He admitted and looked at Mist. His face fell again at his
expression. “There’s a vampire there too, isn’t there.”

“Yes, but the top
three things on my Hate List are Necromancers, vampires and you. Not necessarily in that order.”

“You have a
list?” Mist asked sceptically.

“Shut up.”

“We need him.”
Mist said. “We need them both. Neon’s rebellious and doesn’t even live in the
Australian Temple. Apparently he’s also a good fighter.”

Nixion glowered
and kicked a rock, sending it flying and narrowly missed a passing car which bleared
its horn at him. Nixion ignored it and continued glaring.

“I hate you.” He
said finally.

“You hate
everything.” Mist repeated.

“I hate vampires
even more than I hate Necromancers.” Nixion complained. He was not pleased with
the first two people on Mist’s list. That is if a vampire could even be counted
as a person. “What about that third one then?” he growled. “Blue someone.”

“Lyra Blue.” Mist
corrected. “I think you’ll like her. She’s not a zombie, not a Necromancer, not
a vampire, not an idiot. She’s an adept with most of her magic focused on her
weapons. She’s an excellent fighter, very good.

Nixion sighed.
“What about the last one?” he asked. “The one you already knew?”

“Vai Melt.” Mist
replied. “She’s another Necromancer.”

Nixions glare flared
again along with his anger.

“Don’t worry,
she’s also different.”

“I’m going to
kill you if we survive this.” Nixion assured Mist.

“I’m sure you’ll
try your best.”

Nixion sighed
again.

“Well, who are we
seeing first?”

“Vai Melt. The
Temple’s closest for us and if we’re lucky, Neon will be there too.

“OK,” Nixion
muttered, quelling his anger. “OK, let’s go see the death-obsessed girl and the
idiot who chose an idiotic name.”

It wasn’t another
bus trip. It was ten times worse. Being stuck in the back seat of a taxi for
thirty minutes beside Mist and an unbelievably talkative driver was complete
and utter torture. The second they got out, Nixion practically roared in anger
and shouted some things at the driver he probably shouldn’t have once he had
driven out of earshot. Mist told him to shut up and they walked into the
graveyard that contained the Necromancer Temple of Australia. Nixion was
surprised that the Temple was here; he knew Necromancers were practically
obsessed with death but he thought that placing the Temple in a graveyard was
pushing it a bit.

Mist ignored him
and leant over a large grave stone shaped like a rectangle. He rapped three
times on it and gave out a hollow echo as he did so. Mist recoiled, shaking his
hand again before the gravestone opened and a Necromancer stuck his head out.

“Oh, it’s you,”
the man muttered. “Zathract Listy, or something. Yeah, whatever, get in.” he
stepped to the side and the two climbed in, Nixion trying his best not to laugh
at the misinterpretation of Mist’s last name.

They walked along
the dimly lit corridor away from the entrance. The walls were lit with flame in
torches again, just like the Sanctuary, but Nixon was still almost laughing.

“OK,” Mist said,
turning around and stopping Nixion. “OK, stop. What the hell is so funny?”

Finally he burst
out laughing and almost doubled over. “What?” Mist asked incredulously. Nixion
calmed himself and looked up at Mist.

“From now on I’m
calling you “Listy”.” He said defiantly. Suddenly Mist brought his gloved fist
up and hit him across the face. Nixion staggered back, clutching his cheek.

“Do what you
like.” Mist shrugged and continued walking. Nixion followed, cursing him under
his breath. They reached the wooden door at the end and Mist pushed it open,
entrails of shadows slowly unravelling from his glove as he did so. They
recoiled back inside it as he took his hand away from the handle and they
stepped into the next room. The Temple was large and complicatedly built and
was lit with proper lights that hung high above them instead of the flames in
the previous corridor. Mist began walking along another long corridor with many
doors along the walls that held too many different types of rooms for Nixion to
remember. They continued walking for around five minutes before Nixion grew
impatient again and asked the obvious question.

“Where exactly are
we going?” he asked of Mist.

“Vai’s usually in
her personal quarters of the Temple,” Mist told him. “So that’s where we’re
headed.”

“And how long
until we get there?”

“Eh…two seconds,
maybe?” he turned into a door suddenly and Nixion had to double back having not
caught on to the fact that they had arrived. Muttering darkly, he followed Mist
into the room where a tall woman with black hair that fell to her waist sat in
a meditative position, eyes closed.

She cocked her
head in a weird kind of accepting manner and slowly opened her eyes.

“Hello,
Zathract.” She said. Her voice was calm and cool, collected. Silky.

“Vai.” Mist said,
nodding in response. “We have come to ask a favour of you.”

“Indeed?” Melt
asked but did not say anything more. Nixion was wondering whether a weird kind
silence was in fashion for weirdos. Cobalt, now the Necromancer. Someone needed
to start speaking soon and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be him. He didn’t
speak unless he had to, but that was different. That was him.

“There’s a group
of sorcerers entitled “The Remaining,” Mist said, taking lead. “And we’re
fairly certain we’re on the threshold of another war.”

Vai tilted her
head slightly to the side.

“Does war have a threshold,
exactly?” she asked.

“My point is,”
Mist continued. “We have consulted the Elder Council and basically, we need to track
them down and stop them.”

“And you want my
help?” Vai positioned her sentence as a question but Nixion could tell it was a
statement.

“Will you help?”
Mist asked. There was a silence that stretched for a while before Melt spoke
again.

“I will not
engage in the detective work as such, but if a battle breaks out and a war
begins, alert me and I’ll come and assist you.”

“Thank you for
your time, Vai.” Mist said.

“Anytime.” She
smiled.

“Oh, one more
thing. Do you know a Necromancer named Neon Dark?” he asked doubling back.

“Oh, yes. Him. A
weird name, wouldn’t you say?”

Nixion nodded in
agreement.

“Yes, he’s
currently in the Temple but doesn’t like to stick here. In fact, I he’s probably
leaving right about now.”

“Thanks.” Mist
said quickly and ran from the room, Nixion close behind. They reached the
wooded door again to see someone walking at the very end of the corridor.

“Hey!” Mist
called, running up to him. The man did not stop walking.

“Idiot!” Nixion
yelled at him, trying to catch his attention. The man stopped and turned
slowly.

“Are you Neon
Dark?” Mist asked after they had sprinted the length of the corridor. Nixion
shook his hand having caught it in one of the balls if flame on the way.

Neon Dark nodded
but did not speak.

“Idiotic name.”
Nixion snarled at him, annoyed again.

“Shut up.” Mist
scowled before turning back to Neon. “We have a problem.”

“You do indeed.”
Neon said steadily. His voice was calm but had a trace of roughness in it that
made Nixion feel uneasy. “Your boyfriend seems to have a bit of a temper.”
Nixion’s hand flew to his machete and was out before Mist’s hand finished
blurring from his daggers.

Mist lowered his
daggers, composing himself but Nixion remained holding his machete. Dark did
not seem to mind, nor had he even flinched as the two drew weapons on him.

“As I said,” Mist
continued calmly. “We have a problem. To put it simply, seeing as I really aren’t
in the mood of explaining details currently, a war is soon to break out. We are
gathering allies and want you to help us stopping this happen.”

Neon Dark did not
move for a moment.

“How do you know
you can trust me?” he asked.

“We don’t.” Mist
shrugged. “But sometimes a risk’s all you have.”

“Fair enough.”
Dark nodded. “If it’s a risk you’re willing to take. What do you need me to
do?”

“Right now?”
Nixion asked, taken aback at the sudden acceptance to joining.

“Right now,
whenever.” Dark shrugged.

“Come with us.”
Mist shrugged and Nixion groaned. Another moron to deal with. “We’re still
recruiting.”

Mist walked past
Neon and he stared at Nixion. He snarled at Dark once more before following
Mist, Dark close behind him.

***

“Really?” Nixion
asked. He was complaining. Again. “We’re going to see the vampire? Why can’t we
ask the normal person first?”

“Why can’t we
take a bus or something?!” Nixion yelled in frustration. Mist stopped walking
and spun around.

“Look around!” he
yelled, waving his gloved hands at the sunny, tree-infested street. “Look
around and tell me if you see a bus!”

Nixion remained
silent for a moment before resuming his walking, Mist taking lead and shaking
his head. Neon had not stopped. Every time, it seemed, the travelling seemed to
be getting worse. The bus trip, Nixion felt like killing someone, but managed
to keep his temper in check. As for the taxi drive, he was surprised he hadn’t
murdered the driver. But now? Now he would be walking to see a vampire with
Mist and an idiotic Necromancer who called himself Neon Dark. He dared not
think about the trip to Lyra Blue’s house after they had seen the vampire. He
didn’t want to think of a worse way to get there than this, if it were
possible. And then there would be all the idiots that Thomas and Mahogany and
Kali recruited to deal with. The way Nixion saw it, the sooner they killed The
Remaining morons, the better and the sooner he could get on with ripping up
insulting punching bags.

His legs did not
ache but his brain did. It was overloading with boredom, Nixion assumed that
over an hour of walking with two idiots with nothing to look forward to at the
destination would do that to you. Either way, when Mist finally turned into a
house on the side of a street, Nixion sighed in relief and almost laughed in
happiness. Then he remembered they would be talking to a vampire and sulkiness
washed over him again. Mist rapped twice on the door and almost immediately it
swung open revealing a tall, pale teenager with messy brown hair.

“What would a
detective want from a vampire?” he asked after a pause, not bothering to
explain how he knew of Mist’s occupation.

“We are on the
brink of another war, a group of Sorcerers named The Remaining are gathering
strength and are poised to take over. We want to stop them, but we request your
assistance.” Mist said. It was not fast, but not slow either. Enough for the
vampire to grasp what was going on..

There was silence
for at least thirty seconds and after looking back at Neon, Nixion became even
more frustrated at the fact that he was the only one impatient at the lack of
an answer.

“OK.” He said
finally, a simple answer and Nixon’s face fell; now he was working with a
vampire.

Nixion was wrong;
the rip over to Lyra Blue’s house was much more calming than the walk over to
Hunter’s house. Nixion still could not quite believe that in a single day his
life had gone from his normal routine to recruiting a Necromancer and a vampire
for a team that will combat a group of evil Sorcerers of which contains a
Warlock. They were sitting in a bus again. At first Nixion’s expression turned
cold at the sight of it but his mood rapidly changed the moment he stepped
inside it. It was one of the new ones; the chairs were larger and more
comfortable, it was air-conditioned and quickly cooled Nixion down from the
boiling heat that ate at him outside, and even better; there was no one else on
the bus. So he took a seat right at the back while the other three spread
around the rest of the bus. At first Nixion had thought that Mist or Dark would
come to sit beside him to annoy him but the two of them took seats right up the
front, something he was very grateful for; he didn’t want to have to pay for
the cleaning of a large bloodstain and rip spread across the backseat.

The trip took
over two hours and although the travel was a huge improvement from the rest of
the day spent moving across the country, the sheer amount of time spent sitting
down and not beating someone up, or even arguing, with someone was beginning to
nag Nixion again. He found himself with his head pressed against the window,
eyes jumping from tree to tree, house to house, positioned on the street in
front of him, right hand clutching his machete far too tightly. He did not
shift his position, however. It did not comfort him, the machete, but it did
give him some sense of power knowing that he could smash open the window of the
bus if he needed to. Far too slowly, the streets were swept away from Nixion’s
eye sight and hills and farm houses, the countryside, flew in to take its
place. He unstuck his forehead from the glass and sat facing the back of
Hunter’s head, hand still clutching his machete. Nixion had absolutely no
interest watching lazy cows graze while he suffered the misfortune of
travelling with a fool, a Necromancer, a vampire and an oddity driver, not even
absentmindedly.

An hour later,
streets came back into view and then cities. Only one city, actually and Nixion
went back to watching; he had always liked cities; especially at night. He
liked the night even more though. It was now night. The sun had set half an
hour ago and during that time, Nixion had envied Mist for having sunglasses
blocking the burning sun out from devouring his sight. He did not say anything,
of course. He was beyond voicing such tiny details of annoyance. He also saw
the vampire injecting something into his arm during the time of the sun
setting. Probably something to stop him from becoming a beast in half an hour.

Finally, Mist
stood up and walked to the front of the bus, said something to the driver and
they pulled up. Nixion leaped to his feet and was almost thrown off them at
once; he had been mobile in a sitting position for over two hours and his legs
were not prepared for a sudden resume of duties. They woke up and held Nixion
upright after two seconds, however, and he quickly walked to the front of the
bus where the doors now stood open, pushing aside the Necromancer as he did so.
He did not thank the driver as Mist and Dark did, but the vampire acted like
Nixion. It didn’t increase his liking for him though. Mist payed up and then
hopped off after his companions before walking directly to the small brick
house in front of them. Nixion just realized that Mist and Dark could have
simply Shadow-Walked from one place to another until they arrived and silently
he thanked them for taking the bus ride so he was not left alone with the
vampire.

“Good timing.”
Mist muttered checking something Nixion could not see.

“Good timing?” he
asked, bemused. “It’s nine, at least! Who wants to talk at this hour? And even
more, it’s you who’s doing the
talking!”

Mist shrugged and
ignored Nixion’s insult.

“Lyra prefers the
night.” He said. Mist took the lead again and walked over to the door and
knocked four times as Nixion caught sight of the bus rounding a corner in the
distance.

The door opened
and Lyra Blue stood there.

She had silky
jagged black hair that stretched to her shoulders. She was slim, and looked to
be in her twenties, though Nixion knew she was probably older than that. She
was pale, and for a moment Nixion was afraid she was another vampire. She wore
clothes that were black and red, and her eyes were brown, like Nixion’s.

“Hello?” she
asked, raising an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”

“Lyra Blue?” Mist
asked.

“Yes.” She said
delicately. “Who’s asking?”

“Don’t you know
who we are?” Nixion asked, surprised.

“Are you going to
answer my question?” Lyra continued.

“Do you always
answer a question with another question?” Nixion continued talking, surprised
that Mist was letting him.

“I asked you
first.” Lyra was grinning, but Nixion guessed that she wouldn’t talk to them
forever. Mist had apparently come to the same conclusion.

“We’re here on
behalf of the Sanctuary.” He said, stopping Nixion.

Her smile became
a little less warm.

“I don’t like the
Sanctuary.” She said.

“I can relate.”
Nixion assured her.

“Shut up,” Mist
said, turning to him and then back to Lyra.”

“We heard you
could help us.” He said.

“I don’t help the Sanctuary either.”

“We’re not really
the Sanctuary,” Nixion said, ignoring the glare coming from Mist for speaking
again. ‘Really the Sanctuary is helping us.
And trust me, I don’t like doing this much either.”

“Can we come in?”
It was the third thing Nixion had heard the vampire say, and his tone was calm
and convincing.

Lyra looked
between Nixion and Mist, then to Dark and finally to Hunter.

“Alright,” she
finally said, and walked in, leaving the others to follow her. Hunter closed
the door behind him softly and followed.

They walked
through her house, the others looking at pictures on the walls, and books in
the selves, but Nixion didn’t care. For the third time in twenty-four hours, he
was back to thinking about his past. Vaugely he wondered why he continued doing
this, but did not reject the tide of swarming memories that offered a tale.

He was no longer called Aiden. Somewhere along
the way, he had changed it. He was now Nixion. And Nixion was angry.

He had failed again.

Through the time he had been tortured and
brainwashed, he had changed.

He was now a killer.

A killer with mood swings with switched
between cold, angry and blood-thirsty, to frightened, scared and timid. The
moods took him and at whatever time. It could be at a torture session, while
sleeping, or during the he was trying to kill someone.

He had mastered bone-breaking. He could kill
someone with a tap and intentions. As long as he had motivation and a finger to
someone, he could snap every bone in their body. That wasn’t the problem. The
problem was every time he got close, every time he was about to murder them, he
changed. He became frightened, and he didn’t want to kill anyone while he was
like that.

That annoyed him whenever he wasn’t in that
state.

Because every other moment of his life was
spent with a burning desire to murder someone, obliterate their existence
brutally, tear apart every bone and deliver the package of ultimate pain before
ending the life of the victim.

He was still in the same place. His home, now.
He didn’t know what else to call it. It was where he had been for the last… how
long had it been? The Man had told him it had been eight months at some point
recently, but it was hard to keep track of time. It did not matter though, and
Nixion was never bored. He supposed he would have been glad of that if it were
not that the thing occupying him was the torture. In fact, now he was beginning
to go insane. He did not want it to happen, but he could feel his sanity slowly
seeping away from his body and the insanity slowly spreading inside like a
disease. He could not stop it either.

Every so often, the man would bring someone in,
bound and chained, helpless. Nixion was always glad when this happened;
finally, a chance to kill someone again. Every time, however, his mood suddenly
swung into reluctance before he channelled his energy into the victim. Nixion
just failed again and was currently screaming as the man dug a silver
instrument deep into his flesh. Occasionally the victims were allowed to battle
Nixion. He was always able to fight them, that was easy. Killing was the part
that got him though. And after that, more torture was brought raining down upon
him.

Finally the man withdrew the instrument form
his arm and swooped down, a fist colliding with his temple and Nixion collapsed
backwards, darkness enveloping his vision.

Nixion looked up. The man was gone. He had no
idea how long he had been out for, nor did he care. He simply got up of the
ground and sat down in the chair. The man no longer bound him the chair
anymore. Once he had confirmed Nixion had gotten used to the torture, he had
stopped tying him up and simply left Nixion to roam around the small room.

He sat back in the chair and looked around at
the room. He needed some chalk, he decided, for when he was finally insane. So
he could draw all those crazy things on the walls like the people did in the
movies inside the asylums or prisons. He was looking forward to that. He would
need to request it of the man when he next came in. The door opened and the man
came in. Nixion remained silent, expecting more torture. Instead, the man
leaned a machete against the wall, and
reached into his pocket, bringing out a vial. The vial was filled with a murky
green liquid and Nixion did not recoil, though quite disgusted.

“You will drink this.” the man commanded of
him.

Nixion nodded, having no desire to disagree.

“OK.” He said simply, no emotion coming to
him. “Why?”

The Man glowered.

“Because my torturing doesn’t seem to be working.
This will drive you insane and into the kind of person I want.”

“An insane killer?” Nixion asked.

“Yes.”

Nixion smiled.

“Awesome.”

“You’ll drink it then?”

Nixion considered.

“OK.” He agreed. “But can I have some chalk to
draw with on the walls for when I’m insane?”

The man laughed and for a moment he was afraid
the man might reject. But then he composed and replied.

“Of course.” He said. “That’s the best part of
being insane.”

“I thought that was the killing.” Nixion said,
confused.

“Other than the killing.” The man said.

Nixion took the vial and looked into the
liquid from above. He was mildly disappointed it wasn’t bubbling. It did not
have a cork on it either. Oh well, it was just one more step to make it easier.
He was about to become insane. And there might not even be any more torture.

“I’d like to think that we’ve become good
friends.” The man said, smiling darkly.

“I’d like to think that too.” Nixion replied,
raising the vial to his mouth. “But it’s not true. I still loathe you.” He
pressed it against his lips and devoured the liquid. It was hot and it ran down
his throat, smooth and powerful. The vial was lowered and released and it
smashed on impact with the floor. Nixion’s mind snapped, suddenly a headache
leaping to surround his brain. He ignored it and stood.

The frightened Nixion, the young Nixion, the
old Nixion…he was dead. The real Nixion
stood and looked the man dead in the eye. He smiled. Nixion was insane and he
loved it. It was blissful and he did not need to think to act. He simply did
what he did, no want, need or desire in the world. No care, no interest…other
than murder.

He smiled back at the man and did not speak.
He simply raised a hand and forced a finger onto the man’s forehead. He saw the
man’s smile drop and become laced with fear, not able to move. Nixion’s grin
suddenly transformed into a happiness of pure evil, pure insanity. And the power
surged through his body, from his core, all around him. But it quickly found
it’s direction, it’s road, the place to go. It surged, sped down his arm and
into his finger before exploding away from it and burst into the air. In slow
motion he saw the energy shimmer for a fraction of a second before it
contracted on the man and blood flew everywhere.

He let the man fall to the ground, his body
now misshapen and deformed, bones sticking out in every pace. Nixion grinned a
grin of evil, blood scattered all over his face and clothes. He bent down,
retrieved the machete the man had laid down and slowly walked from the room,
away from the man who had held him captive for almost a year.

It was clear now.
The memories retracted into the depths of his mind and Nixion sat there. He did
not know where. He did not know what he was sitting on, nor who the person
talking to him to the left was. He had not been released. He had murdered the man…He had killed him.

“Is he alright or
can I hit him?” Lyra asked.

Nixion looked up,
quickly coming back to earth. They were in the lounge room. Everyone was
looking at him oddly. This was the second time he had done this while in
someone’s home.

Mist grabbed his
arm suddenly.

“Can I talk to
you?” he asked, but the look in his eye made Nixion know that he had to accept.
He nodded and they stood up and followed Mist back into the hallway.

“OK.” Mist said
talking quietly. “I’m not going to pester you about this, I’m going to ask you
once. What’s going on with you?”.

“Nothing.” Nixion
said and turned to walk back into the other room but Mist grabbed his arm and
sent shadows of darkness to bind his hand and Nixion’s arm together. Damn those
gloves…

“That is the
third time that you’ve done that.” Mist said. “I want to know what’s going on.”

“Well, I’m not
telling you.” Nixion glared, talking just as quietly.

“Fine.” Mist
sighed. “I suppose that’s reasonable, but from now on, can you please just try
and concentrate?”

Nixion studied
Mist. He wasn’t angry…he was concerned. Concerned.

“Yes.” He
muttered. “Fine.”

The shadows
retreated and the two walked back into the room.

Lyra was looking
from Dark to Hunter, a tamed expression of curiosity playing on her face.

They sat down
again and Lyra finally spoke.

“So,” she said,
watching as Nixion fell onto a seat, arms folded. “Why are you here?”

“We need your
help,” Mist said, and launched himself into another explanation about Hamond’s
escape, and The Remaining.

Lyra looked at
them.

“I can manage
this situation without you.” She said finally. A shocked silence followed her
words. “You can toddle off back to the Sanctuary and leave this to me.”

“Yes.” She was
still grinning, but everyone knew she was being serious.

“I don’t think
that-” Mist started, but Nixion interrupted him.

“Let’s go then,” he
said and stood up.

“Then let the
games begin.” She said, following his movements.

They were
standing out in the backyard, surrounded by green grass. Lyra was holding two
knifes, and was in a fighting stance. Nixion had his machete crossed over him,
the point near the ground. Everyone else was watching from the fence, a good
distance away.

You know how some
people say you could cut the tension in the air? Well, the tension was so thick
that you’d need a chainsaw just to scratch it.

Nixion made the
first move. He ran towards her, swinging his machete directed at her throat.
She dodged it, rolling across the ground, and tried to cut him across the leg
as he passed. He quickly bought his machete flying down to meet it and the two
struggled for a minute before Lyra rolled backwards and came up, waiting for
the next attack.

They paused,
assessing each other’s techniques and style. Nixion would have preferred
fighting without weapons, mainly because Lyra was a weapons specialist. Nixon
was at least glad that she was only using two weapons. He had seen her take all
kinds of battle accessories from her jacket.

This time, she
lunged forward, one knife pointing toward his heart. Nixion managed to stumble
backward, but still received a cut across his chest. He quickly brought his machete
up, and missed her by an inch. Nixion snarled and charged, swinging and slicing
at her. He managed to make a small cut on her elbow, and grinned. His grin vanished
at once when she came in with a fist and Nixion dived to the side, rolled on
the grass and spun, flinging his machete at Lyra. She spun in the air, rolled
and caught the machete in her mouth before placing one of her knives back in
her jacket and taking the blade. Nixion’s face fell and took two steps back,
now becoming anxious. Lyra grinned at him and calmly moved in, one knife moving
to cut his stomach and his machete moving up to his head but Nixion grabber her
wrists and smashed his head into hers sending her staggering back. When he
recovered, he realized he was now holding his machete again and Lyra’s knife.

He swung his
machete at her, aiming for her neck. She raised her arm and blocked the attack
by hitting his arm away. He wasted no time, however and bought her knife flying
up to slice her neck and she only just spun in time. Nixion sliced at her legs,
and she only just managed to jump it, now gasping.

He charged at
her, swinging and cutting again. The difference this time was that he was
actually striking her, her lightning fast reflexes only just stopping the
blades from inflicting fatal injuries to her body. He became more and more
reckless with each injury he inflicted upon her and soon became smug. He
brought both weapons up for her head and she ducked, pushed off the ground and
shot a kick up that hit Nixion’s chin sending him staggering back. He spun,
raising his blades but Lyra was already there. She sent one, two, three fists
into his face and followed up with a second kick which sent Nixion stumbling to
the side. Lyra pounded a fist into his head one last time and Nixion fell to
the ground. He rolled quickly and flipped up to see Lyra standing with a pistol
in her hand.

“Hell.” He said
before she opened fire. He blurred from his place and rebounded off the house
as bullets flew for his legs. He caught sight of Mist and Dark laughing while
Hunter stood there looking bored. He made a mental note to kill them all once
he was done here. He flipped as another bullet shot past him and Nixon spun and
released Lyra’s knife from his grip. It flew and she caught sight of it just
too late. She leant to one side quickly but it still caught her on the cheek
and she gasped in pain before glaring at Nixion, seething in anger.

“You’re the one
who wanted a fight.” Nixion said just before she opened fire again and he
cursed. This time bullets few everywhere, aimed at his chest, head, anything.
He rolled quickly and darted around Lyra, rebounded off the house once again
and collided with her. They both fell to the ground and rolled, Lyra coming up
on top sending four punches raining down on him before Nixion forced his knee
up to hit the back of her head. Her body was forced forwards at the blow and
Nixion quickly bought his own fist up to hit her sending her rocking backwards
instead. He lashed out, a kick making contact and she rolled off him while he
rolled the other way and came up holding the gun.

Lyra froze, a
playful smile on her face. She slowly stood up and walked towards Nixion, knelt
in front of him and pressed her forehead into the pistol, knife clutched
tightly in her hand.

Lyra’s blade came
soaring out of nowhere and lashed against his check and Nixion rolled backwards
in pain. He picked himself up and cursed again as Lyra pulled a second pistol
from her jacket and emptied the magazine on him, gun shots ringing out loudly.

Nixion leaped
into the air once more as the final bullet shot from the gun and streaked
through his leg. He cried out in pain and collapsed when he landed, blood
leaking from his wound. He found he was next to her and flipped his machete and
slammed the handle of it into her chin and she staggered back, clutching it.
Nixion spun on the ground and hit her legs with his and she tripped and fell
while he cried out in pain again. She rolled to the left and jumped up. She
quickly slammed the end of her knife against Nixion’s chin. He rolled once more
and leaped to his feet…foot…whatever.

Lyra gathered her
strength and launched herself up too, charging at him again. A fist flew out of
nowhere, hit his stomach hard and he doubled over, his hand somehow finding
Lyra’s arm. A grin rose to his face and he shot power through his hand. A loud crack shot from Lyra’s arm and she
staggered backwards while Nixion hopped around. Her glare blazed in pain and
she shot forwards one last time. Her elbow smashed into his jaw and it broke
before her leg swept the ground from him. He fell and lost his grip on the
machete. Before it had even hit the ground, Lyra stooped and grabbed the hilt
of Nixion’s weapon as he landed don his back, face screwed up in pain.

He looked up at
her, his own machete pointed at his heart.

“Game over.” She
gasped.

Mist ran forward
drawing his knifes looking cautious but Lyra had already discarded the weapon
and helped Nixion up with her unscathed arm.

“You’re good,”
she panted amazed.

Nixon clutched at
his jaw, wincing in pain and not even trying to respond.

“But he lost?”
Mist asked sceptically. He would have hit him if he had the strength.

“He did, but no
one’s got that closes in years.” She grinned.

Nixion mumbled
something about a rematch, and she laughed. The laugh quickly turned into a
wince, and she looked at her broken limb.

“Yeah, I’ll help
you,” she said to Mist. “Partly because I want a rematch too.”

Mist sighed while
Nixion made a sound which could have been a laugh or an insult.

“Come on,” Mist
said. “Let’s get you two to the Sanctuary.”

4.

THE
IDIOTS WHO CALL THEMSELVES HEALERS

Lyra had a blue
van and Zathract said he would drive to the Sanctuary; he honestly didn’t think
the police would be on patrol at two in the morning. He got in the driver’s
seat while Hunter got in beside him and Dark made himself at home in the
backseat with Lyra and Nixion, both of whom were now unconscious. Lyra had
pulled out a tranquilliser gun from her jacket and handed it to Zathract before
they had left. Lyra, having known already that Zathract would use it to put
both her and Nixion to sleep before they departed was ready for the shot, but
Zathract had to use Dark to distract Nixion while he injected the fluid in to
his bloodstream. Nixion, he knew, would not be happy when he awoke. But that
would be in the future, and he currently had two unconscious people to lug into
a van. As Zathract pulled out of the driveway and begun the seven hour trip
back into familiar surroundings and to the Australian Sanctuary, he silently
mused at the thought that the two in the back were dreaming about more
fighting, a rematch. He told Hunter and Dark that they would probably get there
around seven in the morning if they were lucky with traffic, which they
probably wouldn’t be once the sun rose, so they could sleep if they wanted.
However, Hunter had informed him quietly that he was used to not getting any
sleep for nights on end and Dark had simply told him that he wasn’t sleepy. So Zathract
continued to drive while the two exchanged tales. Dark made it clear that he
didn’t like vampires and Hunter made it clear that he didn’t like Necromancers,
but each of them made it quite clear that they liked one another, neither being
what was expected of their kind. And Zathract listened through all of it,
boredom seeping through his mind and wondering whether he would survive if he
attempted to shut them up by killing them and if they would survive the battle
with The Remaining if he did succeed in taking their lives. He decided against
it and attempted to ignore the boring conversations they discussed.

Once they left
the city and got into the country side again, Zathract decided that he liked it
out here better for driving. There were no traffic lights, no speed limits, no
street lights and no horns honking wildly from drunken teens. After almost an
hour of doing nothing but resisting the urge of slamming his head against the
wheel in frustration at the Necromancer and the vampire, Zathract pulled
himself back to earth after letting his mind wonder for a while to find that
the two had stopped talking. And he continued driving for five minutes with
dead silence.

“Have you ever
been attacked by seven people at once?” Dark asked just as Zathract was about
to ask something himself and groaned in frustration silently as Hunter replied.

“Oh, yes,” he
said darkly. “And they almost succeeded too.”

“And why were you
attacked?” Neon asked, curious.

“Oh, various
reasons.” Jake replied casually. “Most likely because I had just killed another
vampire.”

“Ah,” Dark
smiled. “So I can safely assume that it was other vampires also attempting to
kill you?”

“Most definitely.”
Hunter nodded.

“…Shut…Up…” Mist
whispered through gritted teeth the hands concealed under his gloves white with
gripping the wheel.

“Oh, nothing.”
Zathract replied cheerfully, his voice now becoming audible for the first time
since he suggested they sleep. “I was just saying that I’ve been attacked by
twenty seven sorcerers and six vampires at the same time. And killed them all.”

Dark and Hunter
fell silent again and he grinned to himself in the darkness, pleased with his
unintended tactic to shut them up. More country and farm passed them as
Zathract continued to pile on the speed, his grin slowly fading now and the
silence solidifying in the van. Tiredness slowly seeped in and begun to clog
Zathract’s mind and head begun to droop over the wheel.

“Mist, I am going to kill you!” a
deafening yell from the back seat woke up Dark, who had been sleeping, and
brought both Zathract and Hunter back to their senses while Lyra continued to
rest peacefully beside the now moving figure stifling with anger.

“You do not,” Nixion raged. “Under any circumstances, tranquillize me!” then his hands suddenly leaped to his jaw and
clutched it as the pain kicked in brutally.

Zathract shook
his head in frustration and returned his attention to the task of driving as a
cow mooed loudly from behind them.

They were at the
Sanctuary and Zathract, Dark and Hunter had had to endure the rest of the four
and a half hours of the journey back listening to Nixion complaining in a
mumble due to his broken jaw about several things including his apparent
intense pain, Zathract’s slow driving, problems with vampires, flaws in
Necromancy, being tranquillized and Mist in general. In fact, they were all
quite unpleasantly surprised that Nixion could manage a mumble at all, let
alone the loud shout he had made when he awoke. Which was quite unfortunate in
everyone else’s opinion. They were all more than content without Nixion
complaining. It was half past seven by the time they pulled up against the
school and by this point, Lyra had begun to stir, her eyes opening. Zathract
laughed as Hunter was pushed away from Lyra bitterly as he attempted to help
her down from the van. It appeared she was still drowsy though and had to walk along
slowly from behind as they made their way into the school, the slowly rising
higher and higher into the sky behind them.

Zathract lead the
group with Dark and Hunter behind him walking side by side, the latter looking
quite disgruntled, with Nixion trailing behind, clutching his jaw and wincing
with each step, and Lyra bringing up the rear walking slowly and gasping each
time her right arm moved. They continued walking, through the darkened school,
into the practically destroyed canteen, where Zathract knelt for a moment to
allow the tile to detect the traces of magic in the flame he held to it, before
proceeding down the staircase and into the Sanctuary. No one spoke as the group
marched across the long passageway lit by flame. In fact, it wasn’t much of a
march. Zathract strode normally, Hunter and Dark’s backs arched forward
slightly to display a feeling of boredom and Nixion half staggered forwards
while Lyra attempted a faster pace before finding it too difficult to increase
her speed and dropping back to her slower one making her look like she was
giving off short bursts of energy every few seconds. As usual, Zathract
reflected, they were not anywhere near the term “normal”. Normal was boring
though. The way the walls and ceilings were built and how the light of the fire
illuminated the corridor reminded Zathract very much of the movie settings of
ancient castles, the ones with knight armour standing in the corridors and
where the kings all wore robes. Of course, the three Elders had to wear robes,
but they resembled little of the silky red ones with fluffy outlining that the
kings he was thinking of wore. Zathract pushed the thoughts from his mind and
continued walking, nearing the wooden door at the end and smiling to himself at
how typical it was of him to be thinking of films at a time like this.

He reached the
end of the passageway, pushed open the wooden door stepped into the Australian
Sanctuary as the Administrator greeted him again, the other filing in behind
him.

“What this time?”
the Administrator asked Zathract as Nixion slumped against the wall, hand still
clutching at his jaw.

“We need
healers.” Zathract replied. “Medical attention for these two.” He gestured
quickly at Nixion and to Lyra who had remained standing unsupported but looked
unbalanced. The Administrator glared at Nixion for a fraction of a second, but
quickly nodded curtly and hurried off. Ten seconds later, seven people dressed
in white clothes came running out, four holding two stretchers. Zathract
stepped back with Dark and Hunter as Nixion and Lyra were carefully laid on the
stretchers and carried off.

Zathract tried
not to laugh at Nixion glaring up at the healer trying to remove his hand from
his mouth to inspect it.

***

There were
healers dressed in stupid white clothes all around him and the huge light was
blinding. Nixion was lying on a long steel platform and was strapped down to
it. It was a much friendlier environment than the room he was locked in for a
year and tortured, but the scene was familiar enough to set his memories back
to pain again.

They were all dead and Nixion was standing in
the middle of the room with their broken, lifeless bodies scattered around him,
all of which were drenched in blood, as was he. Their once pure white clothes
were now torn and bloody, worn and beaten. Nixion’s face was consumed with a
maniacal grin accompanied with insane laugher of madness. He was slightly
hunched over and his hand clutching the bloodstained machete hung loosely by
his side. Nixion’s laughter slowly dimmed and then died, the silence starting
to press in on him. It was the kind of silence that was impossible to contain,
the kind that walls could not hold. Nixion could not appreciate it, would not.
It bore down on him and expanded, slowly but steadily; purposefully as if it
had a goal. It was delicate and powerful, but vulnerable. And then the silence
shattered; a sharp knife cut through it in the form of Nixion’s voice.

“DEAD!” he bellowed and begun to laugh again.
They were all dead, all the people in the building. His former prison, the
small room he had been kept in for so long, tortured in, was behind him, the
door leading into it positioned somewhere to the left of a corridor to the
side. There was a dead body in there too. Nixion grinned darkly at the memory. The
once white walls, just like the once white clothes, were now stained and
covered in blood from all different people. Nixion remained hunched over as his
shoulders and back shook slightly with his laughter which was then ceased
abruptly. It would have unnerved everyone, if anyone was still alive. Then his
head slowly rose upwards as the silence snuck back in carefully, his eyes now
narrowing and his eyebrows contracting to create a fierce glare as if the blood
splatter on the wall had just insulted him.

“I’M NOT GIVING IT TO YOU!” he roared at the
wall and the silence scampered back out again as Nixion straightened up and
looked away from the wall after two more seconds of hardened rage. An exit. He
needed an exit out of the building, some way to get out of here, the prison. His prison…his prison.

Nixion staggered forwards, his left leg landed
heavily and he wobbled sideways for a second before getting his balance back in
check. His laugh that escaped from his mouth again turned sharp in the instant
Nixion’s weight shifted to his right leg and a cross between a growl and a gasp
of pain filled the room as pain surged through his mind and leg simultaneously.

“Revenge…” he muttered, forgetting about his
leg at once and took another staggered step forwards. “Will be…IT!” he spun
around and his hand flew upwards, finger pointed now at a double door with
blood splattered all over it. “THAT IT REVENGE! NOW!” Nixion abandoned his old direction
and marched towards the door, finger still firmly pointing at it accusingly. He
stepped over a dead body and lowered his hands when he reached the door. His
eyes travelled up and down the door, examining it carefully and softly muttered
words flittered from his mouth that hung slightly open. Nixion’s hand met the
door and he begun stroking it softly.

“Mine…it…lovely…DIE!” he rolled forwards and
crashed into the double door with such force that they were knocked off its
hinges and clattered loudly in the next corridor as Nixion stepped over them,
now walking purposefully towards a second door, moving with an air of brutal
purpose, seemingly knowing where he was going.

“BANG!” How was Nixion suddenly holding a gun?
Perhaps a better question would be “why did he just shoot it at the light above
him, plunging the corridor in to complete darkness?”, or a better one still, “why
did he discard it the second after doing this?” It didn’t seem to matter to
Nixion. He continued walking quickly forwards and turned what he imagined would
be a corner.

Smack.

Nixion staggered backwards, roared in fury and
slammed his fist into the wall before getting it stuck in there and spent the
next five minutes in a blind rage, screaming, thrashing and lashing out, trying
to free his hand from the large ditch in the wall.

He kicked it in the end which somehow
dislodged his fist and he quickly slammed his other one into the insolent wall
before turning around and smashing through a second door.

And there, right there, in front of his eyes,
was the most horrible, mind-numbingly, blindingly, terribly, disgustingly
horrid thing Nixion had ever seen. Impure and natural; horrifying to see, a
feeling to bleed against. Something to kill, yet something he could not,
something no one could. Impossible in itself to exist, something so impure,
something so unnaturally bright; it gazed into Nixion’s soul and was already
torturing him. Why? After all this time, why was something else ten times as
worse taking away all the numbness and blissful nothingness insanity bought
with it and handing him back pain and fear? He writhed and shielded his eyes
against his eternal enemy: sunlight.

Sunlight. Those
eternal, never wavering rays of impurity. They were still his enemy. Just like
this huge bright light bearing down on him now was. The only difference between
the two situations was…rather a lot of things, honestly. Nixion was now lying on
a steel bed thing and a healer dressed in white was leaning over him, asking
him something. He laughed silently. The healer looked just like one of the
people dressed in the uniforms he had killed all those years ago. He probably
didn’t have enough strength at this point to kill anyone though. Or did he? His
jaw didn’t hurt anymore. He could actually feel his fingers. Did this mean that
the healers had already operated on him?

“Have-?”

Argh, there’s the pain! God damn, no, they have not operated yet!

***

Lyra was sitting
in a comfortable red chair, her eyes closed and was failing in her attempt to
ignore the searing pain in her arm miserably. There were three healers doing
things to her, but she didn’t trust them to give her anything to eat or drink
to fix her arm, or even to numb the pain. Lyra wouldn’t even accept the numbing
leaves they had offered her and so they had quickly bustled about, trying to
fix up her injuries in some other way. The chances that they were actually
people intend on poisoning her were very, very slim, but it was a chance all
the same. And if that was a change, then the chances that they would end up
poisoning her would be reduced significantly if she refused all substances to
be taken orally.

As much as her
pain ate at her, annoyance was biting its way through her flesh too; annoyance
at the stupid, idiotic healers. As if it would take them half an hour to devise
a method to at least numb a broken
arm without having the victim digest something. Idiots. Zathract Mist most
likely had something on him more worth her time than these fools. Admittedly,
they were doing everything they could
for her; it just wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy.

“Ms Blue,” a man
said timidly.

“Call me that
again and I’ll slit your throat.” She snarled, eyes still closed.

There was a short
pause before the man recovered.

“I’m terribly
sorry,” he continued. “Lyra-”

“Never mind. Call
me Ms Blue.” She sighed.

The man muttered
something and continued.

“We have found a
way to-“”

“Well it’s about
bloody time.” Lyra snapped, eyes flying open. “Hurry up. Go on.” She waved him
away with her good hand and winced as her other arm shifted ever so slightly. The
idiots that existed in this world…

***

“Zathract Mist,”
someone to his right said. Zathract opened his eyes and turned his head to face
the Grand Mage as he approached the detective. He pushed himself off the wall
and turned his whole body to face the Grand Mage and smiled.

“Grand Mage.” He
replied, inclining his head slightly as a sign of welcoming. Then he paused.
“I’ve been meaning to ask; what’s your name?”

“Eh?”

“I can’t always call you Grand Mage, can I?” he
asked.

“Can’t you?”

Zathract
shrugged.

“Thyrow Slit.”
The Grand Mage informed him and Zathract raised his eyebrows.

“What?” Zathract
asked. “Thyrow? Thyrow?”

“What’s wrong
with it?”

Zathract shrugged
again.

“Sounds a lot
like Shakespeare is all.”

“Never liked
him?”

“I never liked
poetry much.”

“You don’t say.”
Slit replied. “Are you OK?”

“I’m swell.”
Zathract grinned. “And since I’ve never used the word “swell” in a sentence
before, I’ve probably cracked too.”

“There are some
people who can never surprise you.” The Grand Mage grinned back. Then he
clapped his hands and got down to business. “So,” He said. “Is the situation
being handled?”

“Vai Melt has
agreed to assist if a battle breaks out that could jeopardize the country and
Gabriel Cobalt doesn’t seem to want to help.”

Thyrow nodded.

“Any news on
Mahogany, Thomas and Kali yet?” Zathract continued.

“Not yet.” Slit
replied. “I don’t suppose you bothered setting a time and date to regroup, did
you?”

“Why bother?”
Mist asked as he pulled out his phone and dialled a number. It rung three times
before Mahogany Reed answered.

“Moo.” came her
voice from the other end.

“Boom.” Mist
replied and cut the onomatopoeia. “Where are you?” the phone went dead.
Zathract looked at the screen. She had hung up.

“Moo.” Came her
voice again from behind him and Zathract didn’t even bother voicing his
annoyance before turning to see Mahogany, Kali, Thomas and one other wearing a
cocky smirk.

***

“Get off me.”
Nixion snarled, shoving a female healer off him as she tried to check his mouth
for any more missing teeth and he stalked from the room, his temper rising
steadily. The healers did not chase after him as he had expected them to.
Nixion didn’t know whether to be grateful or annoyed. He’d settle with annoyed.
He was in an annoyed kind of mood. A door to his side flew open and Lyra paced
out of it muttering darkly about uselessness. Her arm seemed to be fixed.

“What happened to
you?” Nixion asked her and she turned
to face him before continuing walking along the corridor, now walking beside
him.

“Idiot people.”
She glowered. “They call themselves healers…as if they can’t find a way to fix
an arm without forcing me to eat something…”

Nixion almost
laughed but decided he wanted to keep him jaw unbroken for as long as possible
again. They turned into a second corridor, no idea where they were going, to
run into Zathract, Kali, Thomas, Mahogany, a new person and the Grand Mage all
standing around, stuck in a very sticky silence.

“You aren’t
getting you job back.” The Grande Mage said. “That’s all there is to it.” And
he walked off without another word. At first Nixion thought that he had been
talking to Mist, but when he saw the look on the new persons’ face, he saw that
he had been wrong. Not that he cared much: this new person would probably end
up dying before long. As the Grand Mage exited the scene, Hunter and Dark
walked in and joined them.

“Who are you?”
Nixion asked the new guy. “Never mind, I don’t care.” He continued before the
newbie could answer who actually didn’t seem to care much. Nixion turned on
Mist. “So this is the team?” Nixion asked as the vampire and the necromancer
neared. Mist nodded.

“Looks like it
then.” He replied.

“Right.” Thomas
said.

“Let’s go save
the world then.” Mist said. He turned and walked off, most of the group
following suite.

“Cliché…” Nixion
heard Mahogany say cheerfully from behind as they walked towards the exit of
the Sanctuary.

5.

STIRKE ONE, YOU’RE OUT

Nixion was sure that they’d fail.
They would never stand a chance with this crew of pathetic misfits. They had a
vampire, a necromancer, an elementalist, a metal-bender-person-thingy, a person
who could change the shape of her hands, and two people who had no magic
besides fighting abilitieswhatsoever. Lyra was good, Nixion
knew seeing as he had battled her himself. She was impressive,formidableand
deadly. Overall, a rather excellent combination of skills. But Nixion didn’t
trust this new person Thomas, Kali and Mahogany had brought back with them. He
did not know who he was and, although this rule had been broken many times in
the past few days, Nixion was firm that he didn’t trust anyone he didn’t know.
Even people he did know. Nixion pondered over this for an hour and found that
on the inside, the only person he really trusted was Mist. He vowed never to
tell anyone this. He took a dislike to this new person at once. Even ignoring
the fact that he seemed to share his and Mist’s liking for nothing but black,
Nixion got bad vibes coming from him. He knew that this newbie would either be
extremely annoying or over-the-top with a fearless attitude and try and take
over Mist’s lead on the group. Mist’s
lead? Since when had Nixion agreed to that? Mist was not leading this team…or
was he?

His name was Stavan, Kali informed
them all, and was an ex-Cleaver, fired for “inappropriate behaviour”. That
didn’t exactly make him any more popular with Nixion. When Mist had asked Kali
how she knew him she had said “We’re old friends.” But Nixion had heard
something weird when she had said “friends”. He assumed this meant that she
really didn’t like him at all, but knew that he would be helpful in battle.

Either that or they had dated…

Now that he took a closer look, it
seemed that this newbie really did dress a lot like Mist in particular. He
dressed all in complete black. A black jacket stretched down to his boots which
were also black. A black shirt accompanied by black pants hung loosely on his
body. His hair was black too, but, unlike Mist’s, it spiked up a bit and had
been cut messily. He carried a Clever’s Scythe with him and Nixion wondered why
he still had one. Surely the Sanctuary would have taken it back when he had been
fired. Nixion hated the cocky grin, that confident smile, that seemed
permanently plastered to his face. It didn’t get better when he got the feeling
that it wasn’t there because he was eternally happy, but more because he really
was going to be the annoying,
arrogant person Nixion had suspected of him earlier. Mist was leaning against a
wall, the fire that hung in its holder behind him sending flickering lights to
play on the back of his hair. He was making a plan with Thomas and Hunter and
he seemed to be disagreeing with them over something. Dark was somewhere else
in the Sanctuary, doing something that Nixion didn’t care about. Lyra, Kali
and Mahogany were talking to Stavan, and he was licking up the attention.
Mahogany seemed to like him well enough, but it was clear that Lyra didn’t
think much of him and Kali was shifting around, biting her lip absent minded
and looking down at the ground, holding one of her own arms by the elbow.

Nixion was sure that Mist and himself would do well, of course. Nixion
couldn’t go wrong and as for Mist, the chances are that he had already been in
similar situations such as this plenty of times before. When it came to terms
of fighting, Nixon was rather good if he said so himself. Not much stood in his
way when he wanted something. And Mist was even better. Not that he’d ever tell
Mist that. Mist must never know how much Nixion doubted himself. However, Mist
would really be doing most of the work on this case. Nixion was rubbish at
nearly anything but fighting. Thomas could bend metal. That was it. Lyra was a
weapons expert, not a detective, nor was Mahogany, but Nixion really had no
idea what she did for a living. Kali wasn’t much of a detective as far as he
knew and as for this Stavan…Well, he’d see what he could do soon enough. And Dark and Hunter were simply there. A
necromancer and a vampire. God, help him…

Nixion himself was sitting in a dark
corner, alone. He had no interest in making plans, or talking to Stavan. Or
anyone else. Yet, he had an unsettling urge to talk to someone. Throughout all his life, even before the kidnapping,
Nixion (Aiden back then) had preferred to be alone. He liked the silence, the
solitude, the way he could think without interruption. So when he felt the urge
to talk to people, like now, it confused him. Sometimes even worried him. He
didn’t like it when he was confused. He liked it even less when he was worried.
If he was worried then it usually meant his life was in danger. And though this
situation didn’t involve imminent death, Stavan’s stupidity that Nixion was
sure was there, could very easily lead him to his death, should he allow it. He
made a mental note to himself never to trust Stavan or do anything he suggested,
even if Mist agreed to it.

…Why was he placing Mist’s opinion in
a position of power? That in itself was unnatural. Something was wrong with
Nixion today. Perhaps the Healer’s had done something to him. He made another
mental note to slaughter them all should he ever be driven into insanity again.

He looked up and Nixion became aware
of Stavan standing over him. He allowed himself a second to scowl at himself
for not noticing sooner and then redirected his scowl at Stavan who was
grinning like a…a cat… Nixion had once read about it in a book. A…Cherry cat? He
wasn’t sure…It wasn’t that Nixion couldn’t remember, it was that Nixion could
barely read. Damn limited education, he thought angrily. Or rather, damn the
bastards who kidnapped him and shoved him into that stupid room where that
idiot man shoved that stupid, metal knife up his-

“Can I sit down?” Stavan asked,
gesturing to the floor besides Nixion. Damn limited chairs, too, he continued in
his head. Nixion thought for a moment of Stavan’s request.

“No.” he decided firmly.

Stavan laughed as if he appreciated
the joke and waited for Nixion to say something else.

When he didn’t, Stavan’s brow
furrowed for a moment before sitting himself down beside Nixion awkwardly.

“Oh, for…” Nixion muttered and
shifted away from Stavan. Because he was taller than Nixion, he had a harder
time getting comfortable. He didn’t think the scythe strapped to his back helped.

“So,” he said, giving up trying to
get comfortable and grinning and Nxion. “You just looked so lonely here, by
yourself that I had to sit here. I just didn’t
have a choice.”

Nixion made a sound that may have
been a conformation or a threat as he vomited on the inside. Stavan took it as
the former and continued.

“I hear you have quite the reputation
for a thirteen year old kid.” He said happily, still looking at Nixion while he
looked determinedly away. He realized after a few seconds he was staring at
Lyra and he hurriedly redirected his gaze down to the ground as their eyes
interlocked for a second. “And not all of its good.”

“Fourteen,” Nixion practically
growled. “And almost fifteen now.”

Nixion hated birthdays. They reminded
him of home, and how he could never go back there. A lot of things reminded him
of home. Even hot dogs…somehow…

Nixion noticed that somehow Stavan
was talking about one of his fights. At first, Nixion was sceptical, and
thought he was making a lot of it up. But as the details got more complicated
and exciting, the more Nixion found himself listening to every word.

“There’s no way you could get a
vampires head to do that,” Nixion tried to stop grinning. Stavan seemed to give
off a certain enthusiasm that was contagious.

Stavan paused, then searched his
pockets for something. “Oh. It seems I don’t have a vampire head handy at the
moment. Do you?”

Nixion thought for a moment, then
looked at Hunter

“I have an idea where you could get
one.” He replied.

Stavan laughed. Against his better
judgement, Nixion found himself liking the ex-Cleaver.

“How’d you get fired anyway?” Nixion
asked.

Stavan’s grin seemed to disappear for
a second. Then he smiled, but it wasn’t as enthusiastic as his grin was.

“They didn’t seem to think that my
behaviour was appropriate for a Cleaver.”

“Why?” Nixion was curious. The way he
said it, it seemed like the Sanctuary had blown something he did out of
proportion.

Now Stavan’s grin was back.
“Apparently,” he said, “Dancing when people pass, or pretending to attack citizens
visiting the Sanctuary is inappropriate.”

Nixion laughed

“You actually did that?”

“What? Me? No, I would never do
something so irresponsible.” Stavan said in a pompous manner.

“So they fired you for dancing?”
Nixion asked sceptically. He thought this was highly unfair.

“Yeah.” He laughed along. “I had a
great track record. I was a great fighter, and saved lots of lives heaps of
times. But I didn’t take orders well. I did my own thing, and even if it
worked, they weren’t happy.”

Nixion frowned, partially because it
sounded so much like him.

“Why would you become a cleaver if
you weren’t serious and didn’t take orders?” he asked.

Stavan sighed.

“My family were powerful sorcerers,
but I just wasn’t that good at magic.” He said and Nixion could tell he was now
getting the “My Past” speech. “I was trying to become an elemental, but I was
horrible at it. Even after a three years of training, I had trouble even to
make a spark appear. When I pushed the air, I was lucky if someone stumbled a
bit. Then I found out about Cleavers. Guards, enforcers and the army all in
one, and limited magic required. It was perfect, I thought. When the surge came
around, I locked myself into fighting magic, and became a cleaver.”

Nixion nodded.

“Seems fair enough.”

Stavan was about to say something
when Mist spoke up. “Alright,” he said, a sense if achievement in his voice.
‘We have a plan. We’ve had Sanctuary detectives searching for evidence of any
of the Remaining, so we can find someone”

“So we’ve had other people looking
for clues, and we’re the ones who get to fight?” Nixion asked. “I like that.”

Mist glared at him.

“Sorry,” Nixion said, obviously not
sorry at all. Mist shrugged, accepting the apology that held no meaning behind
it far faster than he expected.

“So far we’ve come up with three
leads. I think we should split into three groups.” Mist continued. “The first
lead, the most promising one will be taken by Stavan, Hunter and Kali.”

Nixion frowned. Stavan was good
according to both Mist and Stavan, and Kali was alright. But why send Hunter on
that mission? They had never seen him fight. And why wouldn’t Mist want to go
on this one personally? If it was one that was most likely to amount to
something, surely he would want to see it himself.

“The second lead is going to be taken
by Lyra, Mahogany and Dark.”

Nixion groaned. He might have had a
limited education, but even he could work out who was left.

“And finally, me, Nixion and Thomas
will take the third, least likely lead.” Mist finished, clapping his hands
together and grinning at Nixion maddeningly, silently tempting him to burst out
in anger.

Then Mist began talking about where
the groups were going, and what sort of lead was it. Nixion was barley
listening. They were going on the worst lead. This was going to be boring. And he was going with Mist.

This was going to be so boring…

Nixion struggled up, Stavan doing the
same beside him and they joined the rest of the team that had assembled around
Mist. He really did seem to be taking charge…

“So you all know where you’re going
then?” he asked the group at large after four more minutes. “Excellent. Get
going then.” They all turned away and swarmed for the exit corridor to the
right leaving Thomas, Mist and Nixion alone. Thomas remained for a few seconds,
then headed for the exit too. Mist made to follow him, but muttered something
to Nixion as he passed.

“It’s good to see you’ve made a
friend.” He grinned.

Nixion scowled.

***

Nixion, Mist and Thomas were going to
“visit” (Thomas had used that word in an attempt to cheer Nixion up when he had
started muttering darkly which earned him a punch to the gut. Mist had not
approved of this action but Thomas had said not to worry) an old factory that
had been used by a few sorcerers who had needed a place to stay while on the
run from the Sanctuary a few years back. Hidden and barely noticed, it was a
good place to hide out. However, it was unlikely that any of the Remaining
would be stupid enough to hide in it, especially since the Sanctuary had made a
note to go and check on the place every two months.

“Why’d you give us the worst place to
go?” Nixion complained darkly as they walked towards the horribly unlikely
lead. He only just managed to restrain himself from saying “And making us take
one of the worse team members along too.”.

Thomas was only thirteen, and his
magic was a strange ability to have. Nixion failed to see how it would be
useful in a fight. He had never seen Thomas fight, and despite reassurances
that he was a good combatant from Mist, he still thought that Thomas was mostly,
if not entirely, useless to the rest of the group.

“Think of it as a test,” Mist said.

“A test?” Nixion asked him
incredulously.

Mist shrugged.

“I’m testing a hunch I have.”

Nixion looked at him for a second,
but when it became clear that he wasn’t going to say anymore, Nixion simply scowled
at the ground as they continued walking, rocks and other useless things
crunching under his boot from below.

Within a few minutes, they were
outside the door to the factory. It was made of what looked to be rusting
metal. Mist nodded at Thomas, and he went off somewhere along the side. Before
Nixion could ask how they had devised the form of sign language without his
knowledge, Mist held his ear up to the door and listened intensely. Nixion
scowled at the door as Mist listen to it. Thomas was doing his own thing, Mist
was being the door whisperer, and Nixion was in the dark, completely confused
about what was going on. Mist listened for another few seconds, then nodded to
himself and looked at Nixion.

“Come on,” Nixion said, annoyed.
“What are the chances that somebody’s here? Why did we even bother coming to
this place?”

“I’m ready.” Thomas’ voice came from
behind Nixion, and he turned around.

Thomas was wearing what appeared to
be armour made of metal that he had torn of something. It wasn't pretty, but it
looked threatening. It was made up of different pieces of the same reddish
metal. The pieces were pushed tightly together, and it looked crumbled but
stable. There were gaps for the eyes, and another for the mouth. At the hands,
there were no fingers, just a mitten style four fingers together, and the thumb
separate. Only Thomas’ power let him move in the armour, moving the metal as he
walked, or raised his arm. He could be the young Ned Kelly.

Nixion raised his eyebrows, seeing
for the first time that Thomas’ power could be useful. Mist simply nodded and
opened the factory door, revealing a long corridor. It creaked as it opened, so
if anyone was here, they’d hear about it. And every step Thomas took clanged
against the concrete floor. Stealth was out of the question, so they quickly
ran through the corridor, hoping to catch anyone there before they could
prepare themselves. As they slammed through the doors at the end of
the corridor, they found them waiting.

An army of Hollow Men were standing
there, spread throughout the ground floor of the factory. On the second floor,
there was a stage sort of thing, where people from the second floor could see
onto the first. It wasn’t quite a balcony. More of a weird distortion of the
ground. Like a chunk had been carelessly slabbed on. On that stage was a man.
He was an average man, nothing stood out about him. If Nixion had seen him on
the street, he would have ignored him. However, here, with the man grinning
down at them, and an army of Hollow Men surrounding them, Nixion felt compelled
to pay attention.

The man was average in height and
size. He had black hair, and brown eyes. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt.
Absolutely nothing stood out about him. Except for the fact that he was in the
factory.

Mist straightened up and drew
his daggers calmly. “Keeve.” He nodded to the man as if he was greeting an old
acquaintance. “I thought you were in Germany?.”

The man, obviously named Keeve,
unless Mist just decided to call one of the Hollow Men that, smiled.

“You don’t know a lot of things,” he
said, wiping hair that didn’t reach his eyes out of his eyes.

Then he looked at Nixion.

“Quite the little psychopath, aren’t
you?” he asked him, obviously having done his research on Nixion already. “Sure you’re on the right side?”

Nixion opened his mouth to say
something threatening, but Mist interrupted him before he spoke.

“Why are you here?” he asked. “Surely
you’d know that we’d find you here. Or is it just a recent move?”

Nixion had no idea what he was on
about, but Keeve smiled.

“Work it out,” he said, and by some
signal, all the Hollow Men moved towards them.

Nixion drew his machete quickly, and
in the same movement cut through a Hollow Men’s stomach sending horrid gasses
leaking through the room. Mist sliced through a Hollow Men carelessly and
leaped around the skin that crumpled to the ground and ran for the stairs. Thomas simply punched the papery army, making
holes in their skin, causing them to deflate. Nixion cut through them, but the
machete was too big, and the hallow men were crowding around him, making it
hard to use the weapon properly. He was pushed from behind, sending him into
Mist’s path. He staggered away for a second, ran into another Hollow Man and
returned to Mist after slicing it open again.

Nixion looked up at the stage,
judging how far it was. Then he nodded and said to Mist, “I’m going to jump up
there.”

“What?” Mist asked him
incredulously, and he knew that he was underestimating the power of this enemy
Mist had already encountered before. No, I’ll go.”

Nixion shook his head quickly,
ducking under a Hollow Man fist and slicing it’s head off in succession.

Mist said something - probably a
warning - but Nixion was no longer listening. He ran forward a few steps and pushed
off the ground, his right foot landing on a Hollow Men head. He used that as a
platform, and managed to get his fingers on the edge of the stage. He pulled
himself up, rolled and came up with his machete shining against the air
menacingly. Keeve was just standing there, not disturbed in the slightest about
the ex-serial killer standing in front of him. Can you be an ex-serial killer?
It didn’t sound right to Nixion. What changes you from being a murder and an
ex-murder? Do you have to have stopped for a certain amount of time…? He should
know this type of stuff.

Probably.

Keeve smiled at him.

“Are you sure you’re on the right
side?” he repeated. “It’s not too late to change.” He held out his hand as if
inviting him over to the dark side. Nixion wondered if they had cookies. He
could see it now…

“Come,
Nixion. Join us, convert to the dark side. We have cookies.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass.” Nixion
snarled, pulling himself away from the temptation of what could have been a
potential cookie fest.

Keeve’s fingers curled into his palm
and clenched into a fist.

“That was a one-time offer boy,” he
warned. He waited a second before nodding. Nixion wondered why he was so
interested. The Keeve opened his mouth and unleashed a sonic wave.

The wave screeched and shook Nixion’s
ears. His eyes screwed up and Nixion staggered back, his hands clutching at his
ears as the machete clattered to the ground. This sonic wave was killing him. The
pain ate at him and his brain shook violently, all form of thought cut off.

Nixion attempted to back away from
it. The sonic wave went all the way to the wall at the other end of the
factory, but Nixion’s head was scrambled, and by instinct he backed away. Luck
suddenly decided to help him and Nixion tripped over his own feet which sent
him sideways, out of the path of the sonic wave, and crashing to the ground.
Out of the corner of his eye, Nixion caught sight of Keeve turning to Mist and
Thomas battling on the ground below and unleashed another sonic wave crashing
down on them.

Mist saw what was coming for him just
in time and managed to leap out of the way. Thomas, in his heavy armour,
didn’t. All the Hollow Men within the reach of the sonic wave swelled up and
exploded sending the room into a never ending spiral of putrid smelling gas.
Nixion thought that Thomas would be protected by his armour. But when the sonic
wave hit him, he brought his arms up to his head, as if trying to protect it
and Nixion could hear his screams.

Nixion tried to stand, but felt
dizzy. He could barely see, his vision was all blurry and his head pounded.
Every part of him felt sore, as if he had just been fighting for several days
straight. He felt drained.

Mist used the air to get himself up
to the stage. Keeve pulled away from the sonic wave, and turned to him. Thomas
was still screaming, but they were getting quieter and Nixion saw he was on the
ground now, barely conscious.

Keeve let loose another sonic wave,
and it knocked Mist backwards. Nixion wasn’t caught in it and used this to his
advantage. Despite his disorientation and pain, Nixion staggered forwards and
launched himself into Keeve, knocking him sideways and stopping the sonic wave.
Mist hadn’t screamed in pain and was already on his feet again but one of his
eyes was shut and his was clutching at his shoulder painfully. The sonic wave
stopped, and through his blurred vision, Nixion could see Keeve running away,
out a door at the back to of stage. Mist was up first, running after him.
Nixion took a second to get his bearing and ran after Mist. Unlike Mist, he
walked forward cautiously. He picked up his machete, which was still vibrating
slightly, and walked towards to door. They would be way ahead of him by now, if
they were still running. He had no hope of catching up. He was tired, and felt
like he needed to sleep. His skin stung and his head was killing him. Nixion
peeked around the door, and saw it split into two corridors. The left was in
perfect order, everything straight and neat. The right had glass on the floor
from exploded picture frames, pieces of a wooden table spread everywhere and
dents in the metal walls. Nixion took a wild guess and went right.

He tried to listen for the obvious
sound of the sonic wave, but his ears were ringing and Nixion could barely hear
anyway. His footsteps sounded muffled, as if he had cotton wool in his ears. At
the end of the corridor, it had a left turn. Nixion took it and saw more damage
littered across the once neat hallways. Nixion took a few more steps then heard
something that he could only describe as a vibrating in the air. His machete
vibrated a little faster, and he started running. He took a right turn and just
saw Mist taking a left turn. Nixion quickly followed, and in a few seconds was
running right behind Mist as they chased Keeve.

Keeve looked over his shoulder and
saw that they were gaining on him. He looks tired, Nixion thought. He realised
that his magic took a lot out of him.

Keeve quickly spun around and a sonic
wave bigger than all the others hit Mist and Nixion. Nixion felt as if his head
was splitting apart. His eyesight faded to hazy impressions, and a few seconds
later, his hearing stopped. His bones felt like they were being pushed apart
from the inside, and his muscles felt like they were dying. And that was
nothing compared to Mist. Mist had been just a few steps behind Keeve when he
was hit, and it affected him worse than it did to Nixion. And yet he still saw
Mist staggering around as the sonic wave dissipated. For three seconds Nixion
was amazed at Mist still on his feet. But then he collapsed onto his knees and
lost consciousness as the rest of his body came crashing onto the ground. Nixion
was at least two meters behind Mist, but he didn’t think he could stand another
second of it. He fell down onto his back, his body numb, and was about to fall
into blissful unconsciousness when the pain really kicked in. Instead of
forcing Nixion into a black out, it woke him up instead. Head still pounding,
body still screaming at him, Nixion blinked for a second, confused. Then he saw
that Keeve thought he had fallen. Nixion sat up and looked at where Keeve had
been standing. He was gone, thinking he had won. The numbness then stopped, and
Nixion rolled onto his side and threw up. His head felt like it was made of
jelly. He wasn’t even on his feet, yet he was swaying. Nixion got to his feet
and took an unsteady step. The world was spinning, but Nixion could barely see
any of it anyway. He blinked a few times to get his vision clearer, and looked
down at Mist.

Through his blurred eyes, he couldn’t
see if he was alright, but after a few seconds, Mist began to stir. Nixion saw
this as a good sign, and went after Keeve. He couldn’t let someone attack him
like that and get away with it. If he was a person who thought about things
before doing them, he might have realised that it was unlikely that he would
beat anyone in his condition. But Nixion wasn’t a thinker. He was a man of
action, and his action right now was staggering after Keeve. And occasionally
falling over too.

After a few steps he began to get
into a rhythm. After a while, he was practically running. He guessed which
corners to turn, and hoped he was right. It was all he could do to prevent
himself from spewing every two seconds, he couldn’t stop to think which corner
to turn around.

In a couple of minutes, he rounded a seventh
corner and saw Keeve walking calmly. Nixion’s anger overtook him, and ignoring
the pain, he charged towards Keeve. The man frowned and turned, just in time to
see the handle of a machete slam into his face.

Keeve stumbled backwards, trying to
concentrate despite the steady flow of blood now streaming down from his nose.
Nixion dropped his machete and tapped his fingertips against Keeve’s
collarbone. Keeve opened his mouth and screamed without making a sound. Nixion
swept his legs from under him and frowned. Something wasn’t right. Keeve was on
the ground moaning silently. That was it. Keeve was making noise, Nixion just
couldn’t hear it. Where were the screams, the sound of bones snapping? Nixion
knelt down, and gripping Keeve’s hair, slammed his head against the ground. No,
not even knocking sound. Nixion stood and kicked Keeve in the ribs. He was
unconscious now, but it made Nixion feel better. He touched his ear and
realised his ears were bleeding. He hoped the Sanctuary Healers got here in
time to fix them. He dragged Keeve into a room, got a pair of shackles and cuffed
Keeve, putting the chains behind the bed post. Then he punched him in the jaw
for good measure.

Nixion turned away from Keeve and
began walking back to where he had left Mist. By the time he got there, having
taken a few wrong turns, Mist was standing up and had already called the
Sanctuary. It soon became apparent that he couldn’t hear any more than Nixion
could so the two just nodded to each other and made their way back to Thomas.
He didn’t know how the Sanctuary officials were going to find Keeve, but
chances were they would strip the place down looking for him anyway so it
didn’t really matter. Instead, Mist started making movements to go and check on
Thomas.

Nixion nodded and ran ahead of Mist
back towards Thomas. He had completely forgotten about him.

When he got to the stage, he looked
down and saw that Thomas was lying there. Weak, Nixion thought. Both he and
Mist were up by now, but Thomas was still lying there, unconscious.

He walked down the stairs and stood
over Thomas.

“Get up,” he said sceptically.
Although he couldn’t hear himself, he was sure it was audible, even with armour
on. Then he realised that Thomas might be deaf too. He knelt down and shook
him.

Something wasn’t right with the
armour. He touched a piece at the arm, and then peeled it off. It was more like
tinfoil then the original metal. The he saw Thomas’ skin.

It was like someone had taken a
hammer to it. His arm was bruised and yellow. Every so often, a small rupture
was there, like the hammer had managed to get through to the flesh in some
places. Nixion touched his arm. It was cold. Nixion looked up at Mist as horror
surged through him.

Nixion out Thomas on his back and
ripped of the face armour.

He was definitely dead. His blank
eyes looked up at the ceiling. Thomas’ face was the same as his arm; bruised
and ruptured. Blood was pooling from his ears. Nixion realised that when he
heard Thomas’ scream getting quieter, it hadn’t been him getting over the pain.
It had been him dying.

Nixion scowled. This boy was only
thirteen. He had a family. He had a life outside fighting. He didn’t deserve to
die.

Nixion stood and looked at the stage.
Mist was standing there dragging an unconscious Keeve behind him. Nixion didn’t
care how he had managed to find the criminal so quickly. Despite what Nixion
had thought about Thomas before, he realized he really didn’t want him gone. Nixion
looked at Mist and shook his head. Mist closed his eyes for a second. Then he
looked up and threw Keeve over the side of the stage. He followed, using the
air to cushion his fall. Keeve hit the ground hard, and Mist, after landing,
kicked his head hard as he walked to Nixion.

Suddenly, Mist looked over his
shoulder, and Nixion spun around, thinking it was more Hollow Men. In actual
fact, it was the Cleavers, running through the door, followed by other
Sanctuary agents and Healers. Nixion looked at Keeve as he was dragged away by
Cleavers.

He was going to pay for this.

Him and the rest of the Remaining…

6.

ANOTHER IDIOTC HEALER

“Your hearing is going to be fine,
you’ll be pleased to hear.” the Sanctuary doctor said, peering into Nixion’s
ears, completely ignoring his personal space. On the outside Nixion made an
effort to scowl.

On the inside he remained slumped and
depressed. He was still recovering from the death of Thomas. Nixion felt that
it had been his own fault that Thomas, the thirteen year old boy with a caring
family, had been killed. In actual fact, Nixion had had nothing to do with the
boy’s death, but he still felt guilty for some unknown reason. It was only then
did Nixion realize what was going on. These things kept happening inside of
him, things that he kept feeling that normally don’t stir at all; Nixion was
changing, and, thus far, he could not tell whether or not he liked where he was
heading. Nixion was brought back to Earth by the Healer who bent down and spoke
louder and closer to his ear.

“Or perhaps not…” the healer said
purposefully.

Nixion let out a yell of surprise and
jerked away from the healer as he laughed. His mood did not lift, but Nixion
could not help being slightly glad that his hearing was going to be fine. He
had been worried that they had been delayed for too long or damage done had
been too extensive.

“Don’t try something like that again
or you’ll find your world a land of pain.” Nixion continued in a snarl, trying
to appear like his usual arrogant, superior self.

“Uh…right.” The healer said shiftily,
seeming to regret his moment of amusement which made Nixion feel superior
again, more like his usual self. They were back at the Sanctuary. Again. Nixion
could see now that this would most likely be the base of their operations until
this was all over. He had originally thought that Mist might have wanted to use
his house/base for the main meeting place and, at the time, Nixion had despised
the idea. He now found himself wishing they were using his place for the base
of operations. He felt so involved in this now. Keeve, Nixion had been informed
ten minutes ago by an irritable Mist, was currently being looked at by advanced
Healer’s and Sanctuary doctors. Nixion was all for killing Keeve on the spot,
but apparently that was illegal. Still, Nixion doubted that the Grand Mage
would really mind. He didn’t seem the responsible kind of type.

“Well…yes, you might have a little
bit of a hard time hearing for the rest of the day, but no permanent damage has
been done.” the healer continued uncomfortably as if frightened of displeasing
Nixion. Now he laughed on the inside.

Nixion was saved from having to
answer the healer by Mist slowly entering the room, one hand on his forehead.

“Headache…” he muttered in reply to
Nixion’s inquiring raised eyebrow. Mist had been sombre since they had found
Thomas dead, and didn’t even seem to care about the fate of his hearing.
Instead, he had busied himself with debriefing the Grand Mage, who was
apparently now obligated to personally oversee the investigation now that
someone had been killed, and other tedious tasks such as the writing of the
report on the incident and the paperwork for Thomas’s death.

“The report’s done, the Grand Mage
has specially assigned a squad of fifteen Cleavers to our use whenever we need
them on this case and apparently, we are the top people on the priority list to
everyone working at the Sanctuary.” Mist told Nixion, squinting as he struggled
to form understandable thoughts through his headache. He sighed and looked up
at the healer.

“How was Thomas killed?” Mist asked
the healer in a hollow voice. This was something Nixion still did not
understand. Why had a weak sonic wave attack from Keeve killed Thomas while one
ten times as strong had not killed either him or Mist? Did the intensity vary
for different people? The healer sighed.

“The soundwaves bounced off the metal
again and again, getting more intense every time it did so, until Thomas was
killed. Unfortunately for him, the only type of metal powerful enough to
rebound the sonic waves from Keeve was the kind he happened to be wearing at
the time. It also weakened the structure of the metal until it was able to be
torn be non-magical means. It was just bad luck that Thomas had that metal on
at the time; any other would only protect him. Quite unfortunate, really…”

“Unfortunate?” Mist asked
incredulously. “Unfortunate? Someone lost their life and it was unfortuna-?”
Nixion cut in quickly to avoid an argument.

“And how’s Keeve doing?” he asked
sharply. This made Mist stop talking at once and Nixion knew why. They were
obviously being played here. The Remaining had been waiting for them. A quick
search of the rooms showed that they weren’t being used, so Keeve and the
Hollow Men must have gotten there recently, tipped off by someone. They
wouldn’t have been stupid enough to actually stay there, so the army must have
been an ambush, an ambush for Mist, Nixion and Thomas, obviously. So this meant
that one of their allies was actually a traitor. The only way to find that out
would be to get the information out of Keeve. Nixion was confused about one
thing though; why had it been such a bad ambush? He knew that The Remaining
must have placed the only metal that would kill Thomas there on purpose and
picked Keeve to lead the attack because he would be able to produce the sonic
waves to kill whoever was wearing it. Which could only really be Thomas seeing
as he was the only who could bend the metal to fit him. They only had one of
The Remaining there. They could’ve all attacked at once and killed Nixion and
Mist along with Thomas. So why hadn’t they? The only explanation that Nixion
could think of was that they wanted everyone else alive. And that unnerved him.
The image of Keeve trying to get him to change sides, to join The Remaining,
flashed into Nixion’s head and he shivered. It involved him. He knew it did.
The healer frowned at a checklist he had raised to eyelevel.

“He has…” he said as if preparing
himself for something. “One snapped collarbone, two minor fractures in his
skull and one major, three broken ribs, one of which has punched his lung, and
extensive muscle damage in his right shoulder. His left arm is broken...” he
continued, scanning the list. “There’s a hairline fracture along his left shin
has apparently lost all vision in his right eye.” One of the Sanctuary agents
nearby overheard and looked up at them in surprise. Nixion shrugged.

“When we do things, we make sure we
do them right.” He said a matter-of-factly. For the first time since the fight,
Mist looked like he might smile. He seemed to struggle for a moment, though,
and the smile decided not to make an appearance.

“Keeve isn’t fit for any kind of
interrogation at this time and will not even be stable for a few days at the
least. Your friend here damaged him quite extensively, and he needs to be kept
under extreme medical care.” He said, gesturing to Nixion.

“It wasn’t all me,” Nixion replied,
pointing to Mist. “He threw him off the stage.” This made the healer look even
grumpier, if possible.

“Can’t you just do a quick patch up? Like a
mortal doctor, but faster.” Mist asked him in the same, dead voice. The healer
gave him a look.

“Do you want me to read the list of
injuries again?” he asked sceptically.

“When will he be ready then?” Mist
asked, impatience making an entry into his tone. The healer sighed, shook his
head and checked another clipboard. After making a few adjustments to it with a
pen, he looked back up at Mist with an answer.

“I would prefer to have him alone for
a few weeks at least to make sure he is going to stay alive, but the Grand Mage
has given us all orders to have whatever you want read.” He said irritably. “So
give us a few hours. He’ll be stable an in a condition to talk…” with that, he
strode out of the room, a tray of tools in his hands that reminded Nixion
horribly of the sharp objects that had been used to torture him.

Mist remained immobile for a moment
more, then nodded and exited the room again, Nixion following suit.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m dead
tired. I’m going to catch some sleep.” Nixion nodded but did not reply, and
started thinking hard. Making a decision on the spot, Nixion began to walk
towards the lounge where a few couches lay holding the majority of the group
and Mist followed. But Nixion quickly changed direction again and he saw that
Mist appeared to be thinking so hard, he didn’t even notice when Nixion lead
him to the holding cells. He turned on Mist once they had stopped and Mist was
snapped out of his trance.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he
asked angrily.

“Why are we here…?” Mist asked,
looking around the prison cells and ignoring Nixion’s own question. He was the
one who hadn’t been paying attention, thinking about his past. If Mist was
doing this as well, they could miss something important. One of them had to be
paying attention to the things happening around them, and it sure as hell
wasn’t going to be Nixion.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”
Nixion repeated and Mist bit his lip. Then he said something to Nixion that was
so unlike Mist that Nixion had to grin. “Only as a last resort,” he warned
Nixion.

“Yeah, sure.” He replied quickly, but
he was buzzing at the chance of doing something like that. Mist gave him a sad
look as if he knew that he was enjoying the fact that he was loving something
that everyone else would hate. Nixion was being pitied. Nixion didn’t care
though. He walked back towards the lounge, thinking happy, violent thoughts. He
was still thinking them as he fell asleep and his dreams were of violent days.

“You
be deaded,“ Nixion said happily to the corpse. Not that the corpse could hear
him. Kind of hard to do without a head. Nixion swaggered over to another
corpse. He frowned at it as it shivered and stared up at him, looking
frightened. This corpse wasn’t dead. It was an alive corpse. Was it a corpse if
it wasn’t dead? A corpse was a dead body, and this body was definitely alive.
It was an alive corpse, Nixion decided. It would be dead, but it just wasn’t
now. The alive corpse splayed its hand, and Nixion was sent flying backwards
through the air. Grunting, he landed heavily on the grass and grinned after
sitting up. It was a magic alive corpse. He leaped up and easily dodged a
fireball that had been hurled in his general direction. Nixion didn’t get the
chance to fight as much as he wanted to anymore. Mostly he just killed people.
Mortals and sorcerers alike, neither group ever put up much of a fight, which
was a shame. Today he had decided to stalk a group of people to this grassy
area, and had taken leisure in killing them. He wasn’t quite sure how he had
managed to miss this one. Vaguely, Nixion wondered whether or not they had all
been sorcerers. It didn’t matter anymore, though, so he stopped dwelling on it.

He
moved out of the way as the magic alive corpse pushed the air again, and
stepped closer to it. He punched it in the stomach and it fell over, gasping.
This wasn’t a good fight. This was all too easy. This was making Nixion sad. Or
maybe annoyed. Sannoyed. Sannoyed or…or…

“Annad.”
He said out loud, leaning over the magic alive corpse, snarling.

“Huh?”
the magic alive corpse asked him, desperately trying to get to its feet.

“ANNAD!”
Nixion roared, his hand suddenly brandishing his machete. “ANNAD!” his machete-arm
flew around the air wildly and as the magic alive corpse attempted to push him
backwards with the air again, Nixion cut off its hand with a vicious swipe.

It
roared and clutched its stump to its chest. The roar turn into pitiful weeping
and Nixion shook his head, trying to clear it. It still had one good hand but
just sat there, crying. Nixion plunged his machete into the magic alive
corpse’s chest, and it became just a corpse. He laughed for a moment, before
bringing a glare to his face which was directed at the grass.

“No,”
he said firmly. “Dead corpse.” Then he grinned evilly, and ran off into the
night. Except that it was more of an uneasy stagger away from the scene. And it
was broad daylight.

Nixion opened his eyes and realised
he was grinning. At once he wiped it off his face and glared around the room to
make sure no one had seen. Especially not Mist; it wouldn’t do him justice…

Insanity was fun. Of course, Nixion
was insane now, but the state of which he was in currently was nothing compared
to the madness that had once consumed him. When he cast a look around the room
again, however, Nixion saw that Mist was not there. He was probably pacing in
front of the Interrogation Rooms waiting to be let in to see Keeve… Satisfied
at the sight of everyone else in the group asleep except for Hunter and Dark
(who were both gazing blankly at the wall like a pair of Siamese Idiots),
Nixion stood up and stretched. Nixion
vaguely registered that he was hungry. Then he saw the time. Keeve should be
ready by now. Food could wait. He walked towards the Interrogation Rooms,
completely ignoring the medical facility. Mist had told him to go straight to
the Interrogation Rooms; Keeve seeing them before interrogation might make him
a little less scared…Or something. Nixion didn’t get how, but he didn’t care.
Nor did he actually understand. When he got there, Mist was waiting. Just like
he had thought…

“He’s ready,” Mist said at once
before walking into one of the rooms. Nixion took a deep breath before
following, amazed that Mist had waited for him. Keeve was sitting in a chair
looking thoroughly depressed. A large bandage was wrapped completely around his
head like a turban, only an extension had also been wrapped around his eye. His
arm and leg were both in casts and a large rise in his clothing around the ribs
told Nixion that they were also covered in bandages. There was a table in front
of him, and a chair on the other side. He was shackled, each hand cuffed to the
arm of the chair. The magic in the room wasn’t bound, but his magic was because
of the handcuffs. Mist sat in front of him. Nixion stood, leaning against the
wall. Keeve looked at Mist, seeming amused. “How are you feeling?” Mist asked.
Keeve moved a little.

“Sore.” he said. “But healing.” Then
he smiled. “How are your ears?” Nixion had to bite back his response. “There
fine,” Mist said.

“And the little Thomas boy?”

Nixion felt furry rise up in him. He
would have loved to smash that smiling face against the table. Instead, he
walked over and stepped on his prisoner regulation shoe, which was paper thin.
“Would you like a glass of water?” he asked innocently, while under the table
his boot crushed Keeve’s foot. Keeve gasped and looked up at him. It took a
second, but he shook his head. Nixion smiled and stepped back to the wall.

“Last chance,” Nixion said
threateningly. No reply. Mist sighed and stood up. He nodded at Nixion and
walked out the door. Nixion moved around and stood opposite Keeve at the table.
Keeve watched Mist leave. Then he smiled at Nixion.

“Something like that,” Nixion agreed,
then pushed the table powerfully. It slammed right into Keeve’s chest, knocking
him over in the chair. Nixion pulled the table back and walked over to Keeve,
who was lying on the floor, gasping and wincing. “Who’s the traitor?” he asked
brutally. Keeve just shook his head. Nixion smiled.

“You don’t want to do this with me.”
He waited a few seconds, then reached down and tapped Keeves elbow. Keeve
howled in pain as his good arm broke. “Just tell me who the traitor is,” Nixion
demanded. Keeve sobbed in pain, but didn’t say a word. Nixion pulled a key out
of his pocket, and released Keeve’s arms from the chair. Before Keeve could try
anything, Nixion pulled his broken arm behind Keeve and shackled it to his
other arm. Nixion then pushed Keeve to the ground. Keeve moaned as his broken
arm was put beneath him, keeping all his weight on it. “I’m giving you one last
chance. Tell me what I want to know.” Keeve stared defiantly at Nixion. Nixion
tapped his fingertips against Keeve’s knee, making sure to break it in such a
way that the bone pressed into the muscles tendons behind the knee. Keeve
opened his eyes wide in shock. He tried to breathe but only wheezed. “Who is
the traitor?” Nixion asked. “Who?” Nixion stepped on Keeve’s knee, pressing the
bone even deeper into the muscle tendons. Keeve screamed and screamed, the
sound reverberating against the walls sending them crashing against Nixion’s
ears which reminded him horribly of the sonic waves. Nixion knew, even with the
Sanctuary Healers, that Keeve may never be able to walk again. Keeve nodded
furiously, still screaming. Nixion stepped off the knee and knelt down to
Keeve. “Do we have a traitor?” Nixion asked.

“Yes,” Keeve moaned

“Who?” Keeve shook his head again.
Nixion pressed down on his knee with one hand.

“I was never told. Someone called me
from a blocked number and told me everything about you guys.”

“Male or female?”

“They had one of those voice changer
things. I couldn’t tell.” He gasped. Nixion sighed and stood up.

“You really are a pathetic criminal,
you know…” He walked out the door and saw a passing Sanctuary agent. “Will you
tell the Healers that they missed some injuries on that prisoner,” he said,
motioning back to the room before turning to Mist.

“We found out that we have a traitor,
didn’t we?” In truth, Nixion was regretting it as well. He hadn’t enjoyed that
as much as he thought he would, which surprised him. Once, he would have loved
doing stuff like that. Was he changing?

“So what do we do now?” Nixion asked
him dejectedly. They had no leads, and had someone watching their every move.
Mist looked at Nixion.

“We wing it.” He said simply. And
walked off.

7.

FLUFFY…CLOUD…BUNNIES

Hammond
looked at the girl, the anger plain on his face while the bewilderment surged
through his voice, somehow making one word sound like a death threat.

“What?”

The
girl nodded.

“Cornucopia.”
She repeated, the fact that she seemed thoroughly unconcerned by the tone of
darkness in his voice displeasing Hammond at an even higher rate. “It was a
cornucopia of sounds. At the street.”

Hammond
rubbed his temple irritably in an attempt to cut off the headache he could feel
coming on before it reached its full potential.

“And
what does cornucopia mean?” he asked in a grinding voice, only slightly less
threateningly than his previous sentence. Or word. Whatever.

The
girl frowned and looked up at the ceiling.

“I
don’t know.” She said slowly after a long pause just, answering just in time to
stop Hammond commanding an answer. “But it sounds exotic, don’t you think? ‘Cornucopia’…”

Hammond
growled menacingly… If this girl had been anyone else, she would be dead at
this moment. Actually, she would have been dead long before this moment. Most
likely the second she had set foot in his office. For she had annoyed him the
second she had stepped into his office. But unfortunately, this girl had just happened
to be his niece. Hammond’s sister had asked him to take care of the girl for a
few weeks. This was day two and already he was thinking about killing her in
the most painful way possible. He had hoped that she might have her mother’s
evil streak, but instead she got her father’s idiotic head. And she had picked
the worst possible name ever for herself.

‘Clousdina
Madonna.’

The
stupidity of some people…

A
small translucent button suddenly flashed blue and Hammond pressed it at once,
opening the door in front of him to let in one of his workers, relieved at the
excuse to end the horribly structured conversation with his niece. A small man
dressed in a black suit with dark sunglasses walked in slowly, professionally,
as he had been taught. It was a well-known fact that Hammond hated bad news.
Most people would almost always be punished if they bought to him nothing but
bad news. Punished quite brutally… Yet it was also a well-known fact that
Hammond wanted to know anything and everything that happened, good and bad news
alike. Piles of unread mission reports on successful or failed Remaining
assignments lay neatly stacked on his desk while the reports that had been read
lay crammed in a huge filing cabinet behind him, having slowly amassed over the
years.

“Sir,
I’m afraid we have some bad news,” he said hesitantly once he had come to a
halt in front of Hammond’s desk. Hammond now recognized the man; he was Arlov
Travvinks. Hammond knew his workers, employees, servants and slaves all by
their voices rather than appearance. This was mostly because Hammond was almost
always reading a report while talking to his working Remaining’s and therefor,
did not actually look at them. It may appear weird, but, naturally, Hammond
killed anyone who raised the matter. He did not have time for such impotent
pests…

“Yes…”
Hammond asked him, already short on patience “What is it?”

Clousdina
laughed.

“I
had a dream about fluffy cloud bunnies last night.” She said expectantly. “They
were incredibly vicious for their size and the way they ripped apart the goat
like that really made the entire thing vivid.”

For
a moment, Hammond was slightly stunned at the sound of his niece, who he had
thought to be something of a day dreamer of things most people thought were
comforting, say something so evilly explicit. It was only for a moment,
however, and Hammond was soon pointing a gun at the back of Clousdina’s head
while she examined the wall with a fascinated expression. It took all of his
self-control to put the gun down and face the man again, and even then he had
come far too close to putting a bullet through her brain of which who knew what
went on inside…

“Sir,”
Arlov said, coughing himself into speech. “Galko’s plans in England have been
delayed due to cause of the Sanctuary, unfortunately, venturing too close to
his base of operations in an unrelated investigation. He has had to pack up the
machine and move elsewhere.”

Hammond
took a deep breath, which, instead of calming him, only aggravated him more.

“Why?
Why hasn’t he just killed them all?” he asked irritably, turning around to the
cabinet in search of Galko’s file.

“Because,
uh, he can’t, sir.... He doesn’t have the resources we have here. Sir.” Arlov
added quickly.

Hammond
abandoned searching for Galko’s file and leant forward on the desk, his head
pounding.

“You
don’t need resources to put fear into people.” He said
confidently. “Just me getting out of jail has put tons of fear into people. With
a small group, you can do any number of things.”

“Yes
sir.” Arlov said, bowing slightly. “Of course sir.”

“Shut
up.” Hammond demanded of him and Arlov straighten up looking flustered, even
with the sunglasses on. “And what of our
plans then?”

“Going
forward without interruption, sir.” He said, seemingly glad that he could bring
Hammond some kind of good news. “Forgive me, sir, but may
I ask…Why did you let Keeve be captured?”

Hammond’s
hand found the gun which he had lay down on the desk and aimed it at the man’s
face who recorrected himself at once.

There
was a slight hesitation befoee Arlov straightened up again slowly.

“Really,
sir?” he asked nervously.

He
was dead before he hit the ground.

“No.”
Hammond growled at the corpse. “No you may not ask.”

“Can
I
ask?” Clousdina looked over at Hammond, a curious expression on her face. She
didn’t seem bothered by the dead body lying on the carpet. Perhaps there was
hope for her after all.

Hammond
struggled to stand; he had spent a long time in prison, cut off from his magic.
Being a warlock, they had to have a special cell to make sure he didn’t die, and that kept him from completely aging. Instead, he just aged faster than
a sorcerer, and slower than a mortal. So instead of the young man that had
entered the cell, and the old man that should have come out of it, he was about
forty five. Not too bad, but it was still taking some getting used to his new
restrictions.

Hammond
stood up, looking at his niece.

“No.”
he said with much less aggression than the last time he had addressed her.

“Why
not?” she asked.

“Because
I said so.”

“Why
should I listen to you?”

“Shut
up…” Hammond growled.

“You
know, it would be easier to just tell me.” Clousdina said teasingly. She knew
what she was doing.

Hammond
sighed.

“Because,
my dear girl,” he said, trying to bring a smirk to his face. “If they know they
have a traitor, they won’t trust anyone else. They won’t trust their team, and
they’ll make the mistake of thinking that they don’t need the team. We’ll take
them down, and nothing will stand between us and victory. Happy now?”

“That’s
kind of an overused line, don’t you think?”

“…What?”

“‘Nothing
standing between us and victory’. It’s a little overused.”
“Isn’t there another word for that?”

“You
mean repetition?” she asked.

“No,
I meant cliché…”

“Oh.
Well come to think of it, the world ‘cliché’ is a little overused too.”

“Shut
up.” Hammond sighed.

Hammond
stepped over the body and made his way over to the door. He opened it and
shouted for the nearest girl to come over. She trotted over as fast as her
little high-heeled shoes allowed her to, a terrified expression plastered to
her face.

“Send
someone to clean that up,” he said, nodded his head back into his room. “Or do
it yourself. I don’t care.” The girl peered over his shoulder and her face
turned even paler.

“And
spread the word. We need to start phase two.” He added with a note of urgency.

The
girl nodded and walked away. Actually, it was more of a stagger…

A
few seconds later, Clousdina yelled from the room.

“Phase
two? That’s the best you could come up with? What a terrible title!”

Hammond
closed his eyes.

He
needed to kill someone soon.

8.

DEADED

‘We wing it.’

Nixion had absolutely no idea what
that meant. He didn’t mind all that much, though, because he figured that if
Mist knew what he was saying (however random it was), then he knew what it
meant, which also meant that, in this case, he knew what he was going to do.
What were they going to do? They were going to wing it. And Mist probably knew
what to wing and how to do it. With a lot of effort, Nixion vaguely managed to
string together the fact that they would wing the spy in the group, but even
then he was confused, if not more.

Despite everything that had happened
in the rather short amount of time he and Mist had arrived back at the
Sanctuary, Thomas-less, Nixion found himself yearning to talk to Stavan again
as they made their way back to the lounge, away from the Interrogation Rooms. Stavan
seemed to be taking on a role of a new friend in Nixion’s mind. Was it possible
that Stavan actually did count Nixion
as a friend too? Other than Mist, Nixion did not actually have any friends.
Even though the two drove each other up the wall and had come close to being
killed by one another in the past, they had, seemingly, become far friendlier
towards each other in the past few days. Stavan was different though. At the
very least, he seemed to share Nixion’s complete disregard for rules and knack
for recklessness. Maybe he didn’t enjoy killing as much as Nixion did, if at
all, but either way, he was more like him than Mist was. Or was he…?

Nixion was pondering over this when
he became aware of a pair of footsteps following him and Mist from behind. At
once he wheeled around and faced the follower, his lethal glare dropping from
his face as soon as it had flown up at the sight of the person. It took Mist
several seconds to realize that he was now alone in his continued walking and
had to backtrack a bit to join Nixion who did not look at him. The follower had
stopped walking too and was facing Nixion looking a little flustered. And for a
moment, Nixion did not see the person dressed formally, neatly, in front of him
with a slight redness creeping up his neck at being caught before his chosen
moment to act. Instead, he saw the same person many years ago, battered,
ragged, bloody, kneeling. With Nixion standing above, in the same dimly lit
corridor, holding a machete and laughing insanely.

“You
be deaded soon.” Nixion laughed from in front of him, his machete held loosely
in his hand while blood slowly dripped off of it. “You soon be deaded.”

The
Grand Mage stayed silent, obviously not sure what to say in response to that.
There was silence for a few moments in which Nixion’s laughter died and he
stared deep into the Grand Mage’s eyes. He gazed back, mesmerised, terrified,
outraged. “YOU BE DEADED!” Nixion roared suddenly, breaking the silence
brutally which caused the Grand Mage to jerk backwards in shock. Nixion let out
another long, harsh laugh at this, his body hanging backwards loosely, face
turning to the ceiling. The entire thing was very amusing, he thought. The
Grand Mage was kneeling in front of him, Nixion, and was about to be killed by
him, Nixion. He, Nixion, was about to kill the Grand Mage. The Grand Mage. Of Australia. And he, Nixion, was going to kill him.

Eventually,
his laughter died down again and Nixion closed his eyes, trying to concentrate.
Concentration. That was Nixion’s new hobby. The drug that had been given to him
by the man in his prison a year ago seemed to be beginning to wear off now. He
was still insane, still had the uncontrollable urge to murder people as
viciously as possible, still had that horrible headache, that strain on his
mind that told him it was snapped, broken, but through that, he was beginning to
make sense of things. Small things. Things like recognition. He knew some of
the basic things: His name was Nixion Strange which was the name he had taken
under advisement of that man. His real name was Aiden (Nixion still did not
remember his last name). He had been tortured. He should kill people. And then some
other things that Nixion did not even know how he had come to learn: He was in
the Australian Sanctuary, the person kneeling in front of him in a horrid sweat
with a panicky expression across his face was the Grand Mage of Australia. Nixion
could feel deformed strings of sanity returning to him, and, thus far, he could
not tell whether or not he liked it anymore.

His
body slowly recoiled itself back to face the Grand Mage again where his eyes
slowly opened again, a dark glare across his face as he breathed heavily. The
Grand Mage was sweating heavily. Large, dark rings were imprinted under his
eyes and his wet brow was furrowed as if trying to work out what Nixion was
doing.

“Deaded…”
Nixion repeated darkly to the Grand Mage. And with that, Nixion slowly raised
his machete, the blood still slowly dripping off it and a look of horror
increased on the Grand Mage’s face, head shaking violently.

“No.”
he said shakily. “No…please, no. Don’t…please…” Ha! The Grand Mage was begging.
The Grand Mage was begging to him, to Nixion. Ha!

“DEADED!”
Nixion roared, and plunged the dagger into the wall. “You be deaded!” he was
laughing again, pointing to the Grand Mage as he desperately tried to take his
machete out of the wall. But he quickly stopped, noting the confusion and
desperation on the Grand Mage’s face slowly transforming into a concentration
and disbelief. At the same moment, Nixion became aware of steady footsteps
making their way towards him.

The
footsteps became faster and closer and Nixion abandoned his attempt to dislodge
the machete which was now firmly fixed in the wall and turned around to face
the person who had now drawn to a halt in front of him. His eyes were emerald
green, his black hair fell over his ears and he held a dagger in his hand.

“Nixion!”

“Nixion?” came the same voice from
beside him as Nixion swayed. And as he turned his head to look at Mist, for a
moment he was still entrapped in his past. Instinctive, Nixion’s fist came
hurling forwards and smashed into Mist’s jaw sending him staggering backwards,
clutching at his mouth and groaning in pain.

“What
the hell?!” he roared, backing up against the wall and doubling over in
pain. There was a bloody tooth lying on the ground… Nixion was in shock. He
just stood there, wide eyed and stunned at what he had done and did not attempt
to resist as the Cleavers that came running on the scene quickly pushed him on
to the ground. “Let him go.” Mist gasped as quickly as possible, a groan of
agony distinct in his voice. The pair hands that were grabbing Nixion were strong
and powerful. He looked up and saw that the Grand Mage was dragging Nixion to
his feet and waving the Cleavers away. Suddenly, life surged back into Nixion
and he staggered backwards, gasping and cursing loudly. Mist spat a mixture of saliva
and blood onto the polished ground before placing his hands firmly back on his
jaw.

“I…nothing…” Nixion said after a
while, brow furrowed and feeling horrible. “Sorry, Mist.”

Mist raised his eyebrows coldly but
did not reply.

“Are you OK?” Nixion asked him,
slowly making more and more sense of what had happened.

“On top of the bloody world.” Mist
practically snarled back. Nixion could not blame him…

The Grand Mage swiftly summoned a
healer to his side and gave the order to take care of Mist. “Nixion, you come
with me, please.” He said afterwards as Mist stumbled off with the healer,
brushing away the hand to steady him impatiently. Nixion’s stomach dropped. The
last time he had been alone with the Grand Mage, he had almost killed him;
Nixion had just relived that himself. He was not sure what to expect as the
Grand Mage led him back along the brightly lit corridor and then into a dark,
depressing room that stunk of rotting metal.

Perhaps the Grand Mage was going to
give him a lecture on self-control. Or maybe he would suggest seeing a
professional physiatrist…Nixion almost laughed at the thought. But Nixion knew,
when he saw the concern in the Grand Mage’s face, that he was going to be
talking to him about something very, very serious indeed. Even in the dimly lit
room, Nixion could see the sags and creases in the Grand Mage’s face lined with
worry, the face that had changed so much since the version Nixion had seen of
him minutes ago; broken, sweating, desperate.

“Nixion,” he started, studying him intensely
as though wondering whether or not he should have thought this through more
carefully. He did not say anything. He simply waited for the Grand Mage to continue;
he honestly did not think it would be wise to interrupt the Grand Mage while he
was in this different, less-than-happy state anyway. And besides, Nixion still
did not feel comfortable in his presence. Yes, the Grand Mage seemed to have
forgiven him and yes, Nixion trusted him now, as much as he trusted anyone,
anyway, but he still felt uneasy. There was still a small amount of tension
whenever they were in the same room, with or without company (it was always
with). Of course there was going to be; Nixion had once almost killed the Grand
Mage and half the Sanctuary Staff a few years previously, in his days of
madness, his days of murder. But today, now, at that moment, Nixion did not
detect any tension due to past events. Instead there was something more
sinister, something deadly, something that the Grand Mage knew.

“Nixion…” he repeated, more slowly
this time, thinking hard. He bit his lip, released it and opened his mouth repetitively
as if thinking of the best way to put something. Yes, the Grand Mage knew
something… Nixion thought frantically of something he or Mist may have done wrong,
but the only thing that came to mind was the interrogation of Keeve half an
hour ago. Nixion did not think this had anything to do with a few bent rules. The
Grand Mage opened his mouth and left it hanging there for a few moments, then
finally decided on something to say.

“…I know you have a traitor.” He said
finally, and Nixion was taken aback.

“What?” he asked, aghast. “How did
you…?”

“Nixion,” he sighed with an air of
trying not to sound irrational. “Please. I’m the Grand Mage of Australia. This
is a Sanctuary that I completely re-designed. I know things.”

“Ah…” Nixion muttered. “Right…”

“I know you have a traitor.” The
Grand Mage repeated. “And…” he hesitated, then cut himself off completely.

“And…?” Nixion pressed him after a
moment or two, eager to find out what this was about. The Grand Mage sighed
deeply, then took a deep breath in, whether he was trying to calm himself or
trying to delay the moment where he would have to tell Nixion, he could not
tell.

“And…” he continued… “I think I know
who it is.”

“What?!” Nixion asked much louder
than he had originally intended to and the Grand Mage hushed him. Nixion obeyed
only because now he knew that this was important. “Who?” he asked in almost a
whisper.

The Grand Mage hesitated. Again.
Unsure. Then something dawned on Nixion, something so out of place, something
so obvious, that he was enraged at himself for not spotting it sooner.

“Wait…” he muttered. “Why didn’t you
have Mist here at the same time…?” he asked slowly. The Grand Mage sighed
again. Sighing seemed to be the new fashion.

But Nixion still could not figure it
out. Why would the Grand Mage hide this from Mist? He was practically leading
the team, getting the investigation moving, doing the recruiting, doing all the
work, gathering all the information and organizing everything that had to be
done. Nixion could not think of any rational reason the Grand Mage would have
to keep Mist away from a piece of information like this, something this vital.
But then he did think of something. There was one reason. The only thing that
Nixion could think of. It was really the only reason he would have to keep Mist
away from this. And that was…

“No…” Nixion muttered
absent-mindedly. “No, that’s not possible.”

“Nixion,” the Grand Mage continued,
ignoring him, continuing with the problem, the situation, the information.